Not the Same Hermione Granger
by ProfessorMuggle
Summary: When the war ends, Harry and Ron say goodbye to Hermione and wish her luck finding her parents, expecting to see her again soon. But after years go by and she can't be found, they reluctantly declare her missing. 10 years later, though, they get the shock of their life: Hermione has been found, but she wasn't actually missing, she's not alone, and her name is no longer Granger.
1. Chapter 1

Standard disclaimer: I'm not JKR. Any characters, events, etc. that come from her books are hers.

Other important info: This ignores everything from Fantastic Beasts/anything published after Deathly Hallows. Any resemblance to information presented in those is purely coincidental (I haven't read/seen them).

* * *

 **March 2009**

Harry shuffled through his files once again, re-reading for the umpteenth time the information he'd put together on the Auror training program in Great Britain and glancing at the reports on the few other programs they'd set up in other countries. He was used to this by now, and he knew the program was successful—the reports could vouch for that. But for some reason he couldn't explain, he had a weird feeling about this time.

Harry had been to America once before, about two years after the war ended, to tour a speak at a Wizarding school and give them a photo op with the boy who lived, but that was easy: smile a bit, wave a bit, tell the students to stay in school and the job was done. This time, he'd be in meetings all day, helping to supervise the construction of any necessary buildings, discussing safety and security measures with the American Wizarding President, and evaluating the performance of their already-employed Aurors.

Harry shook his head and put the papers away in the briefcase Molly had given him when he was promoted to Head Auror nearly five years ago. She'd offered to get him a new one when he was promoted two years ago to head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but he had declined. One working briefcase was enough.

"Sir?"

Harry looked up. A flight attendant was standing over him, pointing to the little fold down table that came out of the chair in front of him. "Please raise your tray-table. We're landing soon."

Nodding, Harry finished putting his things away and the woman moved away. Everything would be fine, he told himself. The weird feeling in his gut wouldn't go away, but he figured it was just nerves and homesickness. He'd be back home with Ginny and their kids soon enough and in the meantime Molly and Arthur would help her with whatever she needed done. Everything would be ok.

When the plane landed, it took Harry some time to find the separate customs area for traveling Witches and Wizards, and he actually groaned when reminded of the hour-long drive between the airport (far enough outside of the city that the Muggles wouldn't worry too much about magical attacks on the city) and his hotel.

Harry had been too tired to explain to the taxi driver why he wanted to be dropped off at an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Washington D.C. at 2am. He knew how weird it looked, sure, but he simply didn't care. The large tip he handed over seemed to satisfy the man well enough, and off he went.

Harry would have flooed to the hotel — disguised from muggle eyes, much like St. Mungos and Hogwarts — but he had grown to despise the feeling and didn't want to risk apparating in his present state of exhaustion. Besides, his first meeting wasn't until 11am later that day; he would still be able to get enough rest.

After checking in at the front desk and tipping the elf who brought up his luggage ("We American elves are not slaves like in England, Mr. Potter, sir. We are paid labor, Mr. Potter, sir"), Harry was ready to fall down in his traveling clothes. Remembering to send a quick message to Ginny regarding his safe arrival and love for her and their two children, he passed out onto the bed and immediately fell into the deep sleep of the jet lagged and travel-worn.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was stressed out. No, that was an understatement. He was in a downright frenzy. His three-year-old twins were both home from preschool with some muggle virus — strep, they called it — their usual babysitter was still in school, their two house elves had the week off, and his wife was nowhere to be found. Ok, that's not entirely true either. He knew she was at work and that she was trying to wrap things up and come home early to help, but she wasn't there yet and he didn't like it.

Draco was currently in the kitchen of their suburban home, heating up cinnamon oatmeal for Carina and cooling down some tomato soup for Caelum. Their six month old, whom he had finally agreed to name Oliver on the condition that his middle name was Thuban, was bouncing happily in one of his many playpens, a number of protective charms hopefully keeping him occupied and unexposed to the twins' germs. For that, at least, Draco was thankful.

Piercing cries suddenly came from the upstairs bedrooms where the twins were supposed to be sleeping and Draco sighed. When he got the call from the preschool this morning, he felt immediate dread and wished for a moment that he didn't work from home. Miranda, their oldest, had gotten strep last year and it had been hell. His wife had been 3 months pregnant at the time and had gone to stay at a friend's house with the twins so that they wouldn't get sick. He figured she might have to do that again. There was absolutely no way he wanted to deal with a sick 6 month old, and it would be him dealing with it since he was the one who didn't technically have to be anywhere during the days.

Carefully levitating a tray of soft foods and medicine, he walked up the stairs and into the third bedroom on the right. His son's loud cries softened into teary sniffles when he saw the soup.

"Cammie was crying," Carina informed her father, padding into the room and climbing up onto Caelum's bed. In a feat requiring what he considered to be epic parenting skills, Draco held the no-longer floating tray in one hand, conjured a folding table with his wand-hand, and sat so that his daughter could crawl into his lap — all in one move.

"Yes, Carina, I heard him," Draco kissed her forehead — both to comfort her and check her temperature (a trick he'd learned from his wife) — and handed her a small potions vial from the tray. She sniffed it and then drank it in one gulp.

Draco held a similar vial of potion up to his son. Unlike his twin sister though, Caelum immediately turned his face. He didn't like potions.

"Cammie, you need to take your potion. It will help you feel better," Draco pleaded. The little boy shook his head fiercely, squeezing his lips shut. "Cammie, I put a new ingredient in it, so it won't taste bad. Just try it." Still, nothing.

Draco decided to try a different angle. "Carina, love bug, did your potion taste bad?"

His little girl shook her head, blonde curls swishing lightly around her cheeks and neck. "It tasted like strawberries!"

Caelum's face soured. "I don't like strawberries!"

Draco nodded, "Which is why your potion tastes like blueberries instead. C'mon little man, give it a try."

With a suspicious glance at his sister and then at his father, Caelum unhappily took the vial from Draco and put it to his lips. "Promise it won't taste bad?"

Draco gave him a stern look, "Cammie, if you keep expecting it to taste bad, your brain will trick you into thinking it actually tastes bad." His son's face registered surprise and he glanced at the vial again, thinking perhaps it was in on this trickery. "Pretend it's blueberry soup and drink up."

After three stories, two empty bowls, and the promise of ice cream, Draco tiptoed back downstairs. He had charmed the twins' pillows to stay cool, since their fevers would bother them until the potion kicked in, and they had fallen right back to sleep. Oliver had fallen asleep too, and suddenly Draco felt an overwhelming urge to join them all in slumber.

The adrenaline of the first two hours had subsided and he was calm enough now to get some shut eye. He cast a scourgify over his entire body, aimed some germ-killing spells at his clothing and hands specifically, and then picked up his sleeping baby from the playpen. Oliver made a few cooing noises as Draco lay them both down on the living room couch and the two of them drifted happily into a temporary sleep.

* * *

Hermione drummed her fingers on her desk, glancing at the clock in her office for what was probably the 10th time in 2 minutes: still 10:45 am.

She had sent an interoffice memo to her boss, the Secretary of Intergovernmental Communication, explaining that she needed to leave early, but she hadn't heard back yet.

She wasn't worried. Matthew Branford was an excellent boss: stern, but fair, challenging his employees to produce their best work but offering motivation and kindness in any given situation. He would be fine with her leaving early, but she was supposed to be meeting with some government officials from the UK this afternoon and she didn't want to leave without ensuring her absence wouldn't be too problematic.

Hermione first met Matthew almost a decade ago, when she was an intern and he was still an assistant to an assistant. They had become friends quickly and had stayed friends when she got a job in a different department, supporting each other as they climbed the bureaucratic ladder that was the American magical government. When he was appointed last year to be the Secretary, he immediately hired Hermione to be his Deputy. She still couldn't quite believe it. There had been a bit of an uproar when the news broke: a British woman serving as Deputy Secretary! And a 29 year old British woman at that! It was unheard of.

Yet here she was.

And here, finally, was Matthew's reply: a little paper airplane flew in through the open door and landed on her desk. Hermione practically tore it open and sighed in relief when she saw the message.

 _Jeanie -_

 _Ick. That sucks! Go home. We'll reschedule for tomorrow._

 _\- Matt_

Hermione smiled at the nickname. When she first got to the states all those years ago to attend a muggle university, she had been in a bad place. She was traumatized by the war, horrified that she had been able to magically wipe her parents memories, and desperate to shake off years of hidden self hatred. Her mother had talked about university as a means of starting over, so at orientation, when it came time to introduce herself, Hermione spontaneously said her name was Jean. The name stuck and now everyone who knew her from that time - muggle or magic - called her Jean or Jeanie, never mind that she confessed after about a week that Jean was actually her middle name.

"Jonathan!" Hermione called to an assistant as she quickly packed up the remaining documents and items she'd need to finish at home.

A blonde man of about twenty-two poked his head inside her office.

"I'm leaving," she explained, "the meeting with the UK officials has been rescheduled for tomorrow. If Mr. Branford needs anything, tell him he can reach me on my cell phone."

A look of confusion passed over the young man's face. "Cell phone?"

Hermione mentally slapped her forehead. Jonathan was new to the department - part of a new recruitment effort to hire promising witches and wizards from the wizarding universities. He was entirely pureblood and entirely unused to the hybridity of muggle and magic devices that permeated the offices.

"He'll understand," she said quickly, adding, "Head over to tech before you leave today; if you're going to work here, you need to get a cell phone of your own and get used to the Muggle way of doing things too."

Jonathan nodded and ducked out of her way as she darted out of the now automatically locked office. She made her way down the hall of cubicles and smaller offices toward her boss's much larger office. She was Hermione, after all; a note wasn't enough to cure her of any trepidation regarding a rescheduled meeting.

She gave a few cursory knocks on the door and pushed it open when she heard Matt's "come in."

At the sound of the door opening, Matthew Branford looked up and sighed when he saw his Deputy Secretary standing in the doorway.

"Strep, huh?" She nodded glumly. Matt gave an exaggerated shudder. "I hate strep. Beckett brought it home from school a few weeks ago. Within hours Emily was complaining of a sore throat too. I thought Maria and I were going to lose our minds the way they were carrying on."

He paused to offer another dramatic show of physical disgust. "Kid diseases! You'd think, with how many of us send our kids to muggle elementary schools now, the potions masters would have found a cure already."

Hermione offered a sympathetic grimace, but added a slight eye roll at this exaggeration. "At least our medicines are a thousand times better! Are you sure you're ok with me heading out?"

Matt's demeanor immediately changed and he nodded enthusiastically, waving his hand as if to shoo her away. "Yes, absolutely. I'll give the guy a tour of the city or something. Not a problem. Go. Get out of here. Get home."

Hermione smiled. "May I?" she asked, pointing to the fireplace in the corner of the massive room. It was so much easier to floo home from the private office network than to go all the way up to the lobby. Matt replied with a brief "Of course. See you tomorrow" and Hermione made short work of it.

Just as she felt the whooshing of green flames begin, she saw Matt get up and greet someone by the door. Maybe she'd been mistaken, but it sounded like he'd said "Come in, Mr. Potter. We've had a slight change of schedule."

* * *

Harry had to admit, he was impressed by the US version of the Ministry of Magic. While his own ministry's departments were all housed in one building in London, it seemed as though the various departments of the United States Government were housed in their own buildings all over the city. It also seemed that they had departments for just about everything.

When Minister Shacklebolt had asked him to initiate contact with the US government, he'd been warned that it was a bit complicated.

 _"The Americans like to do things their own way," Shacklebolt had said. "They do it decently well most of the time, but sometimes it's just too much trouble. If you think working with our Muggle counterparts here is difficult, just wait! It's all politics over there."_

Harry hadn't been entirely sure what he'd meant, and had insisted it would be fine. That had been four years ago.

Harry's first contact had been the Head Auror at the Magical Department of Defense. He proposed the idea and didn't hear back for a year. When he did hear back, a new Head Auror — Auror Smithson — told him he liked the idea, but that he'd need to go through a different department if the British Ministry wanted to be involved in any way. And so it began again.

Every time he got through it was _budget-ceiling this_ and _voting session that_. Finally, a year ago, a man by the name of Matthew Branford got in touch with Harry, now the Head of Magical Law Enforcement in his own Ministry.

The man had just been appointed Secretary of the Department of Intergovernmental Communication and personally apologized for the lack of enthusiasm in his department in previous years.

 _"The Magical and Muggle Governments of this great nation are very closely intertwined, you see," Secretary Branford had explained apologetically. "So much so that policy and political sentiment in one often directly affects policy and political sentiment in another. But we have a new President now, and it just so happens that improving national security and fostering relations with our British counterparts are both top priorities! We'll have this Auror Training Program up and running in no time!"_

Harry had been relieved at the time, but he was definitely nervous now as he walked into the massive stone building. It was very conspicuous. Not at all like the charmed and warded hotel he was staying in.

He passed through some basic security checkpoints and signed in at a front desk, where he was told to just go directly to the Secretary's office. Of course, that didn't exactly help, and an intern was called to help him find his way.

On an upper floor, they walked through a few halls filled with cubicles and passed a variety of offices too quickly for him to notice the names on the doors. Finally, Harry stood alone in front of a great oak door with two big name plates: "Secretary of Intergovernmental Communication" above and "Matthew Branford" underneath. The door was partially open, and he could hear voices inside.

He knocked gently and seconds later, the door swung open. Standing before Harry was a tall man with broad shoulders and a huge toothy grin plastered onto his face as if he had just heard a piece of spectacular news. The man's own tousled brown hair matched Harry's mess, and both heads seemed a bit out of place compared to the Secretary's extremely neat and expensive looking suit. Branford's lapel flaunted a pin picturing an American flag layered underneath a wand editing gold sparks.

Harry stuck out his hand, wondering who was already waiting inside the office. It was only 10:55. He certainly wasn't late.

Branford was speaking and leading him into the office with a grand sweeping gesture. "Come in, Mr. Potter. We've had a slight change of schedule."

There was no one else in the room, but Harry did notice a fireplace in the corner to his left and the hand-sized bucket of floo powder was still swinging slightly.

"Sit, sit! Can I offer you some water?" Harry sat, but politely declined the water.

"A change of schedule, you said?" He was trying his best to be professional, but the weird feeling in his gut was back along with a healthy dose of Bureaucrat-induced intimidation. Harry still wasn't quite used to working with politicians and bureaucrats, preferring the more familial style of the Auror Department.

"Yes, just a slight one," Branford explained casually, magically refilling a water bottle that was already on his desk. "We were going to have a preliminary meeting today before showing you around and getting you settled in, but my Deputy Secretary had a family emergency and needed to reschedule. We'll all meet tomorrow morning, if that's alright with you — before the meetings and presentations with the D.O.D. of course."

"Oh, alright," Harry responded, reminding himself that the DOD stood for Department of Defense — the US equivalent to his own department. "That's not a problem."

The man stood up again, despite just having sat down. "So I figured I would take the day off and give you a tour of the city if you're up for it," he suggested, cocking an eyebrow at Harry. Harry was still tired, but not nearly as tired as he'd been earlier that morning, and he'd never been to Washington, DC before.

"Sure! Why not?"

As they were setting out to leave the building through a back exit, Harry once again felt shock and a bit of discomfort at their conspicuousness. If American wizards were so out in the open, they would have to significantly change elements of his training program. Or at least, that was how he justified commenting.

"You Americans don't care much for International Statute of Secrecy, do you?" he asked, chuckling nervously when he was met with confused silence and trying to explain. "In London, our Ministry is entirely underground, and"

"Ah! No," Secretary Branford apparently caught on and quickly interrupted "The citizens of DC are extremely used to government buildings and classified information, so there's really no need to hide in that manner. Of course, we do have precautions. Do you remember walking through a set of metal detectors on your way in? Yes? Well they also detect the presence of magical blood and security clearance levels. If you don't have access, you don't see it. Literally."

Harry must have looked a bit confused, since Branford continued:

"Ok an example: you are a wizard, which means when you walked in, you could see our interoffice memos flying around. If you were a Muggle — specifically a Muggle who doesn't have a certain security clearance — the metal detectors would recognize you as such and charm your eyes. Those memos would have been invisible. And if you'd seen someone carrying a wand, it might have appeared to you as a rather large pen instead."

Harry nodded, trying to mask just how impressed he was. Muggle technology doing magical work in a government agency was something Britain had barely even attempted. Of course, Great Britain's Ministry of Magic wasn't nearly as closely associated with their Muggle Counterparts as the governments seemingly were in the States. Still though, it would be interesting to attempt in places like St. Mungos.

For the next few hours, Secretary Branford showed Harry all around Washington DC, pointing out buildings where they'd have meetings, taking him to famous tourist sites — both magical and muggle — and listing off additional places or activities Harry "really should do before heading back across the pond." Branford even offered to have Harry to his home for dinner, but Harry declined. It was a bit much for one day and he was feeling jet lagged again. He took a rain check, intending to go back to his hotel, eat something ordered from room service, call home via cell phone or magic mirror (whichever Ginny saw first) and go to sleep.

The first part of his plan went swimmingly. He got back to the hotel with no fuss at all but, upon his arrival, was informed that the kitchens had been closed. Suppressing thoughts that were positively anti-elfish rights, he asked where a nearby carryout place might be and begrudgingly apparated to a safe space near the location.

The little restaurant was a muggle-owned business, but Harry guessed that a lot of witches and wizards frequented the place as well. It seemed a large portion of this suburban area was magical and he wondered if there were many more mixed neighborhoods in the area. As he walked inside, the smell of Americanized Chinese food immediately filled his nostrils and his stomach began to grumble hungrily. He was silently debating which items he wanted to bring back to the hotel when a bell chimed behind him, indicating that someone had entered.

At that same moment, for some inexplicable reason, the memory of a swinging pail of floo powder came to mind and he turned instinctively to see who had entered.

What he saw nearly made his knees buckle. His stomach dropped to the floor and it was as if the wind had been knocked out of him.

"Hermione," he finally gasped, as though his voice was trapped somewhere deep down. "You're — I —" he couldn't quite find the words. He hadn't seen this woman in 10 years. He had given up on ever seeing her again. His best friend.

"We thought you were dead."

* * *

A/N: So? What do you think? Let me know! (p.s. I don't have a beta so please excuse any typos/etc. that made it through my own editing.)


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2! Please leave me reviews letting me know what you think!

* * *

Hermione's house was finally quiet. The twins had finally fallen back asleep about an hour ago, her husband was reading their oldest a bedtime story, and she was rocking gently in the chair her parents had bought them as a gift when Miranda was born, watching her baby sleep. She was fairly certain, having had experience with the matter, that the twins would be waking up again in a few hours in need of more potion, and Oliver would be ready for a diaper change in less than thirty minutes, but the peace and quiet was nice while it lasted.

She had rushed home earlier that day to help Draco with the kids. The college student who helped out as their nanny in the summers was back in school and wouldn't be available during the days again until December. The two elves whom they employed — a married couple named Louis ("lou-ee") and Flora — were on vacation, a federal requirement that made Hermione's inner rights activist extremely happy. And while many of her friends would call for helpful grandparents in times like these, Hermione always hesitated to do that.

She had found her parents easily enough after the war. They had set up a new dental practice in Brisbane, so after looking them up in a phone book she set up an appointment. It was easy enough to get their memories back too. The hard part was figuring out what to do next. They hadn't been pleased with her and the guilt that piled on every time she thought about her lies and mistreatment of them, the more she started to hate being a witch. It was then that her mom suggested a muggle university.

Hermione had, of course, intended to return to Hogwarts to make up her missed 7th year. But every time she so much as looked at her wand, she would be filled with anxiety. So she applied to a few muggle universities in the United States and got some Hogwarts professors to write letters of recommendation. Acceptance letters came and suddenly she was all set to start in the spring. Her parents came with her, and stayed with her until after graduation. But after her wedding they announced a new plan.

Richard and Jane would be closing yet another dental practice, selling their home, and traveling the world with the money they had been saving up for years.

"We want to make valuable memories that — no offense dear — can't be taken away from us," her mother had explained. "Of course we'll visit multiple times a year, sweetpea. And you'll always be able to reach us by email."

They came to visit for holidays and for all the children's birthdays and would probably have dropped everything to come help her if she really needed it, but she didn't need it.

Her children absolutely loved when Grandma Jane and Grandpa Rick came to visit; they always brought exotic presents and a huge stack of pictures to share. Still, though, on days like today she did miss them, and she often had to suppress the inner voice telling her it was her fault they weren't there.

"Are you waiting for him to wake up?" Draco's soft voice whispered in her ear, chuckling lightly when she jumped.

"I didn't hear you come in," she defended, smiling up at him all the same. "He'll be up in a few minutes," she added.

Draco squeezed her shoulder. "Why don't you let me deal with Ollie when he wakes up?"

Hermione's face must have registered confusion because Draco continued. "You go grab some carryout from _Lisa's_ and then we can watch a movie." She smiled, and looked back at their second son.

"Are you sure?" She felt bad. She had made it home to help him quickly enough, but Draco wasn't exactly a fan of germs to begin with and he'd been forced to deal with those awful first two hours alone. But he was nodding.

"Unless you have more work to finish . . ." Hermione shook her head _no_ ; she had finished everything earlier today while the kids had been napping. "Well then it's settled. I'll change the nappy and give him a bottle; you'll go get my favorite foods as a reward for being such a great dad!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. He could be such a pompous goofball sometimes. But takeout and a movie did sound good. Giving her husband a quick peck on the cheek, she went downstairs to order their favorites for carryout.

Draco had discovered _Lisa's_ when they moved into the neighborhood a few years ago. They had been living downtown until just before the twins were born, and they were used to having at least 10 carryout options within three blocks of their building. The suburbs were fantastic in so many ways, but providing options for her pregnancy cravings was not one of those ways. Luckily, _Lisa's_ was open late, and Draco came home one night with three full bags of "the best American Chinese food in the world!"

She just finished placing their order when Oliver started to cry. Waiting to confirm that Draco had been able to quiet the tired 6-month-old, she grabbed her car keys and headed out the door.

 _Lisa's_ was only about 10 minutes away, but their order wasn't complicated, and Hermione was always running into people she knew there anyways. She didn't mind chatting with friends while she waited for their food.

The restaurant was located in the center of a plaza where both muggles and magical folk liked to spend time. The restaurants had been getting fancier over the years, but they had put in a little playground across the street for children, and so the familial atmosphere was the same.

Hermione parked her car on the side of the plaza closest to _Lisa's_ carryout entrance and walked in already thinking about which movie Draco would pick to watch. She had been surprised when they had run into each other at the same muggle university and even more surprised when he asked her to accompany him to a movie.

Of course, that was nothing compared to the surprise she felt when she walked inside. Standing in front of her, holding a carryout menu and a look of pure shock on his face, was none other than Harry Potter.

Hermione froze in her tracks, trying desperately to suppress the immediate and overwhelming guilt and fear that washed over her and stole her voice.

"Hermione?" Harry gasped, and she suddenly felt like crying.

"You're — I —" he was having trouble speaking too, she realized. Well of course he was having trouble. They hadn't seen each other in 10 years.

"We thought you were dead."

Hearing that was like taking a brick to the chest. They thought she was dead? She hadn't been the greatest friend, of course, completing cutting her best friends out when she cut out magic. And true, she hadn't gotten back in touch with them after a year had gone by and she had been able to confront her trauma more healthily. But dead? Surely she hadn't disappeared so thoroughly that they thought she was dead, did she?

Some time must have passed with the two of them staring at each other because she was suddenly pulled out of her trance by some waving and calling her name.

"Jeanie? Yoo-hoo! Earth to Jean!"

Hermione's head snapped to the side. One of the owners of _Lisa's_ — Lisa herself, in fact — was standing behind the counter, waving her arm and holding a bag (Hermione's order). The look on her face was pure concern.

Hermione quickly shook herself more fully out of the trance and, feeling as though she had swallowed a baseball, walked around Harry and up to the counter.

"Hey Lisa," she greeted. "Sorry about that. Long day."

"Everything alright?" Lisa was in her sixties, a DC native who had lived in this particular suburb ever since she had gotten married decades ago. When Hermione and Draco had first moved out here, Lisa had welcomed them with open arms and taken them under her wing.

Her own daughter, a woman close to Hermione's own age, had moved to California with her girlfriend that same year and Lisa hadn't liked being an empty-nester one bit.

Hermione sighed heavily to force away the imaginary baseball blocking her vocal chords. "Yeah," she told Lisa, "The twins have strep, though, so it's been a rough day."

Lisa immediately grimaced. "Oh strep is just awful. At least the antibiotics kick in quickly." Hermione nodded. Lisa was a muggle, and though Hermione and Draco had confessed to being magical a year ago, Lisa never quite bothered to figure out the differences between their lifestyles.

"Well anyways, I should get back," Hermione replied, bracing herself to deal with an angry and hurt Harry Potter.

"See you Sunday?" Lisa asked, confirming that Hermione would be coming to the biweekly meeting for a bookclub Lisa ran.

Hermione nodded once, said "See you Sunday," and turned around. But Harry was gone. Her brows wrinkling in confusion, Hermione shook her head as if to clear it of cobwebs and went back out to her car. It had been Harry, hadn't it? He had called her Hermione.

* * *

"We thought you were dead."

Harry was at a loss. Why did he just say that? He didn't think she was dead. Not really, at least. Despite everyone's advice to the contrary, he and Ron had been holding out hope that Hermione was still alive somewhere. And he'd been right. Here she was.

Someone was making quite a bit of noise behind him, and Hermione's head snapped to the side to see what it was.

"Jeanie? Yoo-hoo! Earth to Jean!"

The unreadable look on her face melted away and was replaced by a look of recognition. The noise was intended for her. The woman — was it not Hermione? — walked around him without so much as an apologetic glance and went up to the counter. Harry turned to watch her, completely and utterly confused.

The woman at the counter, a woman named Lisa apparently, started chatting with the woman Harry had been sure was Hermione. He couldn't wrap his mind around it, but he knew he wouldn't stay here to confront the truth.

Shoving the menu back onto a counter to his right, Harry rushed out of the door and over to an apparation point. He was back at the hotel, running past the front desk and up to his room in a matter of seconds.

He pushed his door open, threw open his suitcase and rummaged frantically until he found what he was looking for: the two way mirror.

"Ginny!" He called, into it, silently begging her to hear him and answer despite it being almost midnight in London. "Ginny!"

Finally, her face filled the screen, a hand blearily rubbing her eyes. "Hi Harry. Sorry about that. Albus was horrible today. I must have fallen asleep."

Normally Harry would have apologized for their two year old's behavior, which had recently been one tantrum after another, and offered some long-distance support, but he wasn't thinking normally.

"I saw Hermione!" He blurted. Ginny's face fell.

"Oh Harry," she sighed, "not again."

"I know, Gin, but this time she was real. It was Hermione! I was sure of it." Harry was sitting on the bed now, his legs bent in front of him and the mirror resting against his thighs.

Ginny shook her head sadly, " _Was_ sure? Did she speak to you?"

Harry paused before admitting, "No." Ginny gave him a pitying look. "But she did speak! We were at this Chinese carryout place, and she spoke to the woman behind the counter."

"Did the woman behind the counter call her Hermione?" Ginny asked, sounding skeptical but maybe a bit more willing to believe him.

Harry looked up at the ceiling, hating the mental war between hope and logic currently destroying his ability to think. "No," he said slowly.

Ginny was getting ready to ask another question, he knew. "Did she recognize you or seem like Hermione?"

"I thought she did!" He immediately defended, "But I heard her say something about twins and and a muggle illness I used to get as a kid, so . . " he added, realizing that it didn't seem to fit. "Dammit."

Ginny gave him a sympathetic smile. "This happens every time you travel, Harry. Until you stop searching for Hermione's features in every female face, you're going to be running into Hermione look-a-likes everywhere you go."

"I could have sworn it was her this time, though," he said, feeling defeated. And he could have. The way she had frozen too when they locked eyes . . . the way fear and guilt had briefly flickered in her eyes when he said her name . . . it had to be her! But Ginny was right. He'd been seeing Hermione lookalikes everywhere for years. It had gotten him into trouble a few times too.

Once, in Germany, he had chased a woman through the streets of Berlin for ten minutes. He'd followed her into a muggle grocery store and through the aisles until he finally worked up the nerve to confront her in the produce section. But when the woman turned around, she didn't look a thing like Hermione. For a while he had been convinced he'd gotten confused and that the real Hermione had apparated away, but eventually he had to admit that it had probably never been her.

Another time, when he'd gone to that photo-op in upstate New York, he thought he'd seen her in the crowd. It had just been a flash from a camera though, obscuring his eyesight. When his eyes refocused the only Hermione he could find was a picture of her blown up to look life-size next to the same ones of him and Ron.

The most recent sighting before this one had been in France at the airport. He'd almost gotten arrested by French Aurors for trying to get through the Magical Customs line without stopping. While waiting in line to drop off his portkey and declare any magical items he'd brought with him, he'd seen someone he was convinced was Hermione standing further up in line. Older, obviously, and more stylishly dressed than he'd imagine her, but 100% Hermione. He'd run after her, barely looking where he was going. Of course, the near arrest prevented him from seeing whether or not it was really her; she'd been gone by the time he got through.

"Look, Harry," Ginny started in with the same speech she'd been giving him for years. "She's been gone for 10 years. We haven't seen her — the real her — or heard from her since she left for Australia. Maybe she's not dead. I would love it if it turns out she's not dead! She was my best friend and I miss her every day. But she's probably dead. And if she's not, well, maybe she doesn't want to be found. And that hurts. And it's horrible. But it's Hermione. If she doesn't want to be found, we won't find her."

"I feel like I failed her, Ginny," Harry whispered, holding back tears.

Ginny tapped her forehead to the glass and then backed up again. "I know, Harry, but you didn't. She's Hermione. If she's still alive, we'll find her. But only once she's ready to be found."

Harry breathed a painful, shaking breath. His heart rate was finally slowing down and all of the terrible emotions that were usually bottled and had come leaking out were starting to go back into their metaphorical bottle.

"Your son was asking for a broom again," Ginny mentioned, quickly changing the subject in an attempt to lighten Harry's mood. It worked. Harry smiled. James was three years old and had been asking for a training broom for a few weeks now. Harry was reluctant to give in, not because he didn't think it was safe — heck, with a former professional Quidditch player for a mother it would probably be safer than walking — but because he didn't want his children thinking they could get whatever they asked for.

"We could get him one for Christmas," Harry suggested. Ginny nodded her agreement.

"That's what I was thinking."

They finished the conversation with some lighthearted talk about their two young children, Ron's decision to cut back on his Auror hours to help George at the joke shop, and Arthur's new obsession with something called a Kindle. After saying goodnight to his wife, Harry drifted off into a fitful sleep tormented by dreams of women who looked like Hermione but weren't.

* * *

Hermione pulled into their driveway and took a deep breath, trying to steady her still racing heartbeat. Locking the car (a habit left over from living in the city), Hermione walked blearily into their house and set the food down in the kitchen. Draco came downstairs just as she was getting out plates.

"Everyone is sound asleep," he said, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. After a beat, his body stiffened and he leaned his head around to look at her face. "Are you ok? You're shaking."

Hermione gulped, placing her hands on the edge of the marble counter to steady herself. "I saw Harry," she whispered, barely able to get the words out.

"You what?" Draco gently but forcibly turned her to face him and took her chin is his hand. "Tell me what happened, love, but first tell me if you're ok."

"I'm okay," she whispered, not sure if she entirely believed herself. Then she launched into the story, telling Draco about walking into _Lisa's_ , about freezing up when she saw him, and about how he disappeared while she was talking to Lisa.

"Remember when I told you I saw him in Germany?" She finished, asking him a question that would lead into something else. Draco nodded.

"And you chickened out and apparated away?" Now it was her turn to nod.

"And in New York, when I went to the photo op at that new school?"

"You meant to talk to him, then, didn't you?" Draco asked, confirming a story he knew by heart.

"And I chickened out again."

"You hadn't been ready to face him," Draco spoke gently, working through a variety of speeches he'd practically memorized for occasions like these. "It's okay not to be ready, Mya. We both came here to escape the Wizarding World and both been reintegrating at our own pace."

Hermione shuddered. His words were familiar and usually calmed her, but they weren't helping much this time. She looked up at him and said, "He said they thought I was dead. What if they don't forgive me?"

She hadn't intended to go 10 years without contacting the friends she'd considered family. But when the weeks passed, and then the months, and then the years without so much as a letter from them, she stopped feeling so bad about not contacting them first. Of course, Draco pointed out a few years later, it's not as though she'd provided a forwarding address. Even McGonagall, who had written Hermione a glowing letter of recommendation, hadn't been given a forwarding address. Hermione had sent the new Hogwarts Headmaster a thank you note when she got her acceptance letters, but had explained her new anxiety about magic and asked that the Headmaster allow her some space to come to decide who she wanted to be as an adult.

Then Draco happened, and she kept getting promoted, and their children took up so much of her time that everything sort of slipped her mind. Every now and then, at holidays and other important moments, Hermione would think of her friends back home and feel guilty and sad, but she knew that it was healthier for her to stay where she was. At least, she had thought it was healthier.

A few months ago, just after Oliver's birth, an article appeared in the paper announcing Professor McGonagall's death. She had succumbed to an illness brought on by old age, and Hermione had cried for a week after seeing it. When she wasn't crying, she was nearly catatonic. Draco had even called her parents, who rushed to their Virginia suburb from a vacation in Hawaii, in order to keep the children from seeing their mother so broken.

Sometime that week, Draco had gotten in touch with the new Headmaster, Professor Flitwick, who replied with a letter assuring him of McGonagall's peace and happiness at the time of her death. He even, though Draco didn't let on about Hermione, mentioned that the board had wanted Hermione to take over as transfiguration teacher and were busy lamenting her disappearance. He told her this news, but it didn't help. It took another week (and the help of some close friends of hers from work) to get her back on her feet. Draco was wonderful, but still, the guilt had been eating at her more fiercely ever since.

"If they don't forgive you, then they're bigger tossers than I was at age thirteen!" Draco told her sternly. "Hermione Jean Malfoy, you are an amazing mother, wife, and friend. Everyone deals with trauma in their own way and you, Mya, you are the kindest, most deserving person I have ever met. If they can't forgive you, it's their loss."

Hermione kissed her husband's reddening cheek. "I was the one who didn't reach out to them. I was the one who abandoned my friends. I was selfish, and childish, and I abandoned them."

"So un-abandon them," Draco said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Look, Mya, you won't know what will happen until it happens. If you're not ready to merge your worlds, then don't. There is absolutely nothing wrong with not being ready. But if you're ready, or even a little bit ready, give it a try. You know I'll support you whatever you decide."

Hermione smiled softly. Looking him in the eye she warned, "When they find out I married you, you may not feel so supportive." It was an incredibly subtle reference to their past, which she knew he would get. When they had first become friends, and again when they started dating, she would use Harry and Ron as a threat, a warning for Draco to keep her happy (her favorite threat was that he should keep her happy, "or else the heroes of the wizarding world might descend mess up his perfect hair"). They both knew no such thing would happen. She had been so adamant about keeping her new life separate from her old that Draco didn't even call her Hermione for a year. He'd called her Janie, just like everyone else, until he finally convinced her not to ignore her past:

 _"Your past shaped who you are and got you to where you are now," Draco said, cupping her cheek and wiping away the tears that had fallen a few moments earlier. "You convinced me not to hide from my past. Why are you still hiding from yours?"_

 _Hermione took a few sniffing breaths and shook his hand off. "I don't even know who I am_ _anymore. I did a horrible thing to people I loved," she said softly._

 _"And I did even worse things," he replied, a biting tone in his voice that revealed both anger and_ _shame. "Yet you forgave me," he said, his voice softening, once again forcing her to look up at_ _him. "Why can't you forgive yourself?"_

Draco smiled at the familiar teasing, teasing he hadn't heard for a few years now. He dropped his hands and grabbed the Chinese carryout from behind her, and then let a devilish smirk take over his features. "Let's go Ms. Deputy Secretary. Time to watch a movie!"

With one last shaky breath, Hermione shook off the remnants of her fear and guilt, reburying them until she had more time to grapple with decisions she'd been putting off for a decade, and even more she'd been putting off for a few months now. She grabbed plates ("we have plates, Draco, we don't need to eat out of the container!") and followed her husband into the living room. "So, what are we watching?"

* * *

Thoughts? Questions? Concerns?


	3. Chapter 3

A/N.- Someone reviewed the first chapter asking why Harry doesn't use a portkey. I guess I should have clarified, so maybe I'll go back in and edit, but essentially, ever since the war countries have become a bit tighter on security (pretty standard post-war behavior). For EU-travel, you can still portkey, but you have to pick up the portkey at a designated location (like an airport) and it can only take you to a designated location (like another airport). That way the magical governments can know (or at least sort of know) who and what is coming in and out of their country. Harry flew to the US because, well, as Shaklebolt says, "the Americans like do things their own way." In other words, no portkeys allowed. But you'll learn more about that in this chapter.

* * *

Hermione woke up feeling restless and cold. The cold could be explained, she realized, once her eyes and mind adjusted to the soft golden daylight of early morning. Her husband's side of the bed was empty. The restlessness wasn't as clear.

She rose gently. On work days, she would often rise quickly and immediately begin her day. Today she felt off. No better way to describe it. She simply felt off. Luckily, Hermione's morning routine was habit by now, despite the young children. She washed and dressed quickly, before heading downstairs to join her family.

Of course, with four young children, her mornings were not quiet.

Hermione could hear her children chattering away before she even entered the kitchen. Her twins were singing something or other, Oliver's baby talk carried over just about everything, and Draco, she guessed, was talking with Miranda. Their — relatively — softer voices were just an undertone. Yet the children were so engrossed in their own tasks and, Hermione presumed, the various types of cereal that had been laid out before them, that they didn't notice her standing in the doorway. She loved when this happened. It gave her a moment to bask in the sweetness of her choices.

Draco, it seemed, was discussing an upcoming show and tell project in Miranda's Kindergarten class. Apparently there was some debate about whether or not an owl was an appropriate show-and-tell object. Draco voted no, Miranda voted yes. Caelum (whom they called Cammie, both from his initials and because it was more youthful) and Carina were singing a favorite song of theirs from a recent Disney movie. Oliver was busy banging a teething toy on the tray of his highchair, having already been fed his breakfast.

"Mummy!" Caelum's observance immediately sparked more shouted greetings, which only fell silent when Hermione had greeted and kissed each of her children in turn.

In the momentary stillness, she gave Draco a quick good morning kiss and sat down in the chair next to his in order to pick off of his plate. Hermione always ate breakfast at the office; years of regimented dining and overwork had turned her stomach off of actual meals before 8am.

"My goodness we're feeling much better today, aren't we?" she said teasingly when the twins suddenly began speaking rapidly over one another, all vying for her attention. Hermione raised an eyebrow at Draco who responded in kind, both of them amused by the enthusiasm of the formerly whiny and sick three year olds. Miranda, who had returned to her debate about the owl, noticed the gesture and attempted to mimic it, to the further amusement of Hermione. Hermione may have won the fight for Miranda's name ( _Miranda_ is the name of a character from Shakespeare, much like _Hermione_ ), but she was a sure Draco miniature in spite of that.

The twins nodded enthusiastically. "So much better mummy!"

Carina spoke up above her brother. "Daddy said we don't have fevers and my throat doesn't even hurt, Mummy, I promise."

"Oh I see. Well fevers or no, you still need one more dose of potion," Hermione said lightly at the same moment that Draco sternly announced, "Miranda, you are not bringing an owl to school. End of conversation."

"That's not fair!" Miranda shouted, standing up abruptly.

"I don't want to take more potion!" Caelum hollered, pushing himself up slightly, worried that his mother would no longer hear him.

"Skbaaaalaaaa!" Oliver screeched, smiling widely incredibly pleased to be a part of the noise.

It was potential chaos, but Hermione didn't miss a beat. Her hand shot out to rest on Draco's shoulder and push him back into his chair (he had begun to stand when Miranda did). She calmly placed his fork back onto his plate (she had been eating his eggs). And as she did this, she spoke. Her voice was gentle, quiet, and just menacing enough to get the job done.

"Miranda Vega, if you don't understand why bringing a live, magical animal to a classroom full of grabby children who do not know or understand magic is inappropriate, we can enlighten you. But if you shout at your father again, you will see naught but the inside of your room and school for the rest of the week. Caelum Atticus, you will take your potion, or you will spend the day in your room while your brother and sister go to the park. Oliver, you have a wonderful voice, but please do not add to the noise when it's not necessary."

Miranda immediately apologized to her father, who accepted her apology and shuffled her off to get ready for school. Caelum reluctantly took the newly procured bottle of blueberry-flavored potion and handed the strawberry-flavored one to his twin sister. Oliver continued to babble, albeit at a somewhat softer volume.

Hermione smiled. Miranda's similarity to her father had numerable upsides, but it did mean they both tended to be unreasonable hotheads at times. Her Caelum, though, was the consummate rationalist. He would never miss a day at the park.

"Now, I have meetings this morning with some very important people, otherwise I would come to the park with you. But you and Daddy, and Oliver are going to have lots of fun and I will join you later in the day. Does that sound okay?"

The twins agreed that it sounded like an okay plan and ran off to get ready for the day. Hermione took one last bite of Draco's eggs, sent the breakfast items and dishes into the kitchen with a quick spell, and picked a babbling Oliver up out of his chair.

She was still feeling uneasy. A restlessness had settled deep into her bones and she still hadn't pinpointed why.

Instead of heading upstairs to grab her materials for work, she wandered into the living room and started bouncing the baby on her lap.

"What are you doing?" Draco's voice rang out from the stairway. "Don't you have a meeting this morning?"

Hermione attempted to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. "I do."

"Well? Get going, then."

"Why don't I drop Miranda off at school on my way in?" Hermione offered. The muggle elementary school Miranda attended was very close to both a Metro stop and an apparation point, since so many wizarding families lived in the neighborhood. On days when Hermione wasn't pressed for time, she would often side-along Miranda to school and then continue on to work.

Draco sighed and sat down next to her. "What's going on, then?

"I don't know what you mean," Hermione replied softly, knowing exactly what he meant.

"Miranda doesn't have to leave for another 10 minutes," Draco reminded Hermione. "Mya, why don't you want to go to work?"

Hermione rested her head on Draco's shoulder with a huff.

"Harry will forgive you," Draco spoke softly into her ear. "It might take him time, but he will. He's bloody Saint Potter. . ." Hermione laughed at the false bitterness in Draco's voice. "It'll all be okay, Mya. But being late to work isn't going to fix anything. Get going."

Draco took Oliver out of Hermione's arms, accioed Hermione's work bag and smacked her lightly on the bottom when she stood up to grab it out of the air. Laughing, Hermione kissed her husband and baby on their cheeks and called her goodbyes up to her other three children.

Just before shouting her department's name into the fireplace, she opened her mouth wide, made a goofy face, and waved to Oliver. His ecstatic screeching laughter at her funny face carried her through the floo network with a light heart.

* * *

"Look, all I'm saying is if we're going to do this — and do it right — my Aurors and other government officials need to be able to travel to the States regularly and conveniently."

Harry was feeling much better today. He'd been up since 4am and had already participated in three meetings with his own Ministry via floo. As uncomfortable as kneeling by a fire place with his head in the flames could be, doing what he was good at and familiar with had raised his spirits exponentially. In fact, he was so much more confident walking into the Department of Intergovernmental Communication earlier this morning that he hadn't even waited for an escort to the Secretary's office. Now he was in Secretary Branford's office killing time before the rescheduled meeting from yesterday by arguing over the Magical President's travel policy.

"Mr. Potter, the political situation in the United States's Magical Community is a bit more dynamic than you might be aware," Branford argued back, attempting to maintain his cheerful tone. "But the nation's stance on immigration is and has been consistently volatile."

"All due respect, Secretary," Harry continued, leaning forward in his chair and placing an elbow onto Branford's desk, "but if my people weren't trying to immigrate during the worst war Wizarding England has seen since Grindelwald, they're not going to try immigrating now. And, I'll remind you that your government didn't tighten borders until _after_ that war had ended."

Satisfied by Branford's initial silence, Harry leaned back in his chair sideways, draping his left arm over the back.

Branford sighed. It was his turn to lean forward. "Harry — can I call you Harry?" Harry nodded. "Harry, do you know the history of my department?" Harry shook his head. He didn't even know much about the history of his own department, come to think of it.

Branford stood up and walked to the wall on Harry's right. Harry turned in his chair. On the wall were two big portraits.

The one on the left, flanked on it's left by an American flag, was of a light-skinned and slender black man. He stood in front of a desk flanked by two flags and red curtains, his arms crossed but face smiling. The American flag lapel pin on his left breast popped against the dark suit. A placard on the bottom of the frame, read "President Barack Obama."

The other one was magical, as Harry immediately noticed. In it, a woman with shoulder-length brownish-blonde hair was sitting at a desk, her head bent over whatever she was writing. As Branford walked closer, however, she looked up, removed a pair of glasses and walked around to the front of the desk.

By the time Harry could get a good look at her, she was standing exactly as President Obama, in his photograph, was standing. Arms crossed, standing tall in front of a desk flanked by flags, a smile plastered on her face. She too, had a lapel pin on the left breast of her dark blue pantsuit. But unlike President Obama's pin, this woman's had crossed wands emitting sparks layered over the American flag. The life-size version of that flag flanked the portrait itself on the right. The placard read, "President Tate Adams."

"This woman is my President, but so is President Obama," Matt Branford told Harry. As he explained further, he drifted back to his desk, maintaining eye contact with Harry the entire time. "See, what the muggle community doesn't know is that a good many of our founding fathers were, in fact Wizards. Wizards and muggles alike fled from persecution in Britain; when we fought for independence, both Wizards and Muggles alike joined the fray. Unfortunately, it eventually became clear that creating a constitution applicable to both communities which _also_ adhered to the International Statue of Secrecy wasn't going to be possible. And so, they established two constitutions. Two governments, functioning in the same space, maintaining the safety and security of the same regions, and ensuring the life, liberty and pursuit of happiness for both muggle and wizard alike. Of course, as our nation grew, it became crucial to maintain constant and cooperative communication between those two governments . . . and thus, the DIC was born."

Branford was seated once again. He had been leaning forward, his arms crossed on his desk, his eyes boring into Harry's. Suddenly he sat back.

"So you see, Harry, we can't just open up travel for wizards because we want to. Our worlds aren't as segregated as yours in England. Travel affects everything. The Wizarding Government can't simply make a decision like that without the cooperation and agreement of the Muggle Government, no matter how much we might want to."

Harry sighed. I The Minister of Magic in London was in communication with the Muggle Prime Minister, but that was just about it. Wizarding England essentially just did what it wanted and cleaned up any messes later. Harry had never even heard of debates or discussions. The Minister of Magic certainly didn't ask permission before enacting legislation.

"All the same," Harry said, feeling somewhat deflated. "My Aurors can't be on a plane or 6 or 7 hours everything they have to be here for a joint training exercise."

Branford nodded. "I agree. We'll see what we can do."

Scenarios started flitting through Harry's mind. Just as he started to think about the state of his own government, Branford stood abruptly.

"Ah, it's time," Harry stood up as well and allowed Branford, who had waved away a Secretary from the door, to lead him through the same doorway. "As you know, Harry, I have been handling this project independently so far. But now that it's come time to implement the program, my Deputy Secretary will be taking over. You'll be working mostly with her, so I thought it was important for us all to meet briefly before really jumping in."

Harry smiled at Branford and nodded curtly as Branford turned and knocked on the wooden door now in front of him. Harry couldn't see the name on the door, since Branford was standing in front of him, but he most definitely recognized the voice that floated out to him when it opened.

"Good morning, Matt. Coffee? Tea?"

Harry followed Branford into the office, feeling as though his stomach had imploded. _She hadn't seen him yet. Did she know it was him coming to the meeting?_

Branford was speaking. Harry didn't really register it until he heard his own name. "Jeanie, may I introduce Mr. Potter, head of Magical Law Enforcement in Wizarding UK. Mr. Potter, may I introduce my Deputy Secretary, Hermione Malfoy."

The only sound Harry registered next was the sound of a dropped mug shattering on the floor.

* * *

A/N - shorter than the last two chapters, but hopefully not in a bad way. I wanted to clarify some of the history/politics we'll be working with.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N - Here's Chapter 4! Picking up right where chapter 3 left off. As a reminder, all of the ideas about the government and what American magical life is like come from my brain. It's not the MACUSA or whatever is in Fantastic Beasts. I love JKR but I don't like her portrayal of American magical life and history. As an American, it just doesn't ring true.

* * *

Hermione took a couple shaky breaths in, trying to steady her nerves, but she couldn't help but think this was the real reason she'd been so restless that morning.

Harry was standing in the doorway of her office. Harry Potter. In her office. Those familiar emerald green eyes were practically stabbing her with a tumult of emotion — so much emotion — but she couldn't tell what Harry was thinking.

"I take it you two know each other, then?" Matt asked, his sorry attempt at cracking a joke betraying his confusion and discomfort. Hermione took another deep breath, momentarily squeezing her eyes shut. So much for taking time to decide if she was ready.

"Matt . . ." Hermione spoke softly, turning away from Harry to look at her supervisor and friend. Matthew turned sharply, staring at her, clearly concerned. "My maiden name is Granger," she reminded.

Matthew shook his head slightly, as if clearly away something distracting. "Yeah, Janie, I know."

"I'm Hermione Granger," she said slowly, as if trying to guide him through difficult steps of some problem. "He's Harry Potter. Does this really not ring any bells?"

Suddenly Matthew gasped. His head swiveled back and forth between the two rapidly and then excitement overtook his confusion and concern.

"Well that's wonderful, isn't it?" He exclaimed, throwing up his arms. "You're friends! But wait — why are you acting like this is a bad thing?"

The painful emotions threatened to overwhelm her once again, and Hermione shut her eyes briefly, willing her mind to suppress ugly thoughts and her eyes to suppress tears. When she felt more ready, she opened her mouth to speak. But she didn't get the chance.

"Because I haven't heard from her in 10 years."

Hermione inhaled sharply, her eyes immediately darting to Harry. To say his voice was laced with pain would be an understatement. Whereas last night, at _Lisa's_ it had been choked, breathy, almost tearful, now it was accusatory, bitter, and stiff.

"Because —" Harry stopped, and turned to Matthew. "I'm sorry, Mr. Branford, but I need to reschedule this meeting," he said quickly, before turning on his heel and walking rapidly back down the hallway. An odd squeaking noise escaped Hermione's mouth and she turned to Matthew, her eyes wide with horror, unspoken apologies, and embarrassment.

"I — Matt, I —" It was Hermione's turn to be speechless. Matthew understood, though, and nodded.

"Go."

Hermione ran after Harry. She literally ran, even though running in her work dress and heels was the last thing she wanted to do in front of her employees. By the time she caught up with Harry, he was standing by the elevators that would take him to the lobby. She couldn't let that happen.

"Harry!" She shouted. When he spun around to face her, the look in his eyes was pure anger.

"So it's really been you, then?" He demanded, his voice icy. "I haven't just been seeing Hermione look-a-likes for ten years? You've been running from me?"

The explanation that had half-formed in her mind disappeared in an imaginary flash at his words and her feelings of self doubt and guilt resurfaced. When Harry spun back around to the elevator, though, her courage returned.

"Harry!" This time, when he spun around to face her, she grabbed his arm, envisioned her destination, and they disappeared.

* * *

Harry spun around at the sound of his name, despite his best intentions. He needed space, he told himself. He needed to clear his head. But then he was being sucked into the familiar tube-like sensation of apparation.

Within seconds, his feet landed on something slightly squishy and the pressure of Hermione's grip on his arm lightened. Auror training kicked in and he pulled his wand, aiming it right at Hermione's face.

"What were we eating the night we decided to go to Godric's Hollow?" He asked, almost wanting her not to know.

"Spaghetti Bolognese and tinned pears," Hermione replied confidently despite the pained look that crossed her face. "I stole them from the store . . . sort of."

At that Harry sighed and lowered his wand. So it really was her. He was angry, sure, but he was also hurt, and confused. Back in the office building, he'd wanted to shout at her. He was furious with her, then. But now . . . he took a moment to look around.

The two of them were standing alone in a huge field. Trees lined the edges of the field and, probably fifty yards away, metal bleachers outlined a children's sized baseball diamond. A few clumps of snow were scatted in the shadier parts, clearly holding onto winter by refusing to melt. A parking lot nearby was empty but for one or two cars.

"Where are we?" He asked, letting curiosity get the better of him. Hermione looked around, and then stared back at him with a raised eyebrow that reminded him a bit too much of the man she had supposedly married.

"Where we are is of no consequence at the moment," she retorted. "I wasn't about to have you shouting at me in front of my employees. So go ahead, scream and shout as much as you need to. You deserve to be angry. But when you're done saying what you need to say, at least let me explain, because I deserve to give an explanation and you deserve to hear it."

Harry was taken aback by her tone. It wasn't nearly as apologetic or distraught as he imagined it would be. She was commanding. Authoritative. This was the woman who had stared down Death Eaters, the woman who had obliviated her parents, the woman who had taken charge in a war despite being tortured . . . this was the woman who punched Draco Malfoy.

Harry's hand subconsciously ran through his hair, as it almost always did in stressful situations. He needed to sit down. Harry glanced around, his eyes searching for a bench (or a big rock — anything would do). When he spotted one about 20 feet away, underneath some trees, he began walking towards it. After a few seconds, he could hear Hermione following.

"10 years," he finally sighed, looking up at her from his new seat. She had her arms crossed, but at his words she uncrossed them and sat down beside him. When she didn't say anything, though, he figured she was waiting for him to speak. "You've been — 10 years. I thought . . . everyone thought . . ."

"You thought I was dead," Hermione's voice had a sharpness to it, a layer of confusion or pain on top of something Harry couldn't quite identify.

"I don't know what to say to you, Hermione" he confessed, years of pent up emotion bubbling over in the form of accusation. "Yes, we thought you were probably dead. But you clearly weren't. Apparently you've been hiding. Oh but you're here, successful . . . did Branford call you Malfoy?" Hermione winced when he said Malfoy with such bite. "We failed you, Hermione. I understand that, but if you didn't want to be friends anymore, you could have at least sent a note."

Hermione stiffened, as if she were about to launch her own accusation, but then softened. "It's a bit of a long story." Then looked at Harry, eyebrows pinched in confusion and asked, "What do you mean you failed me?"

Harry immediately began rummaging in a briefcase he'd almost forgotten about until her question. As he shuffled the papers around, Hermione's eyes drifted outwards. All the way across the park, some children had arrived with a nanny or young mother and were playing on a jungle-gym. A man that had been there when they arrived was now throwing a tennis ball for a golden retriever, who would fetch it and bring it back to him.

"Here," Harry said, handing her a few clippings from newspapers that he carried with him at all times. Her eyes drawn back to him, Hermione took the clippings gently. Harry watched her as she read the one on top. Her shoulders tightened and her features morphed into a sharp frown. Her back straightened even more if possible, and she finally look at him in horror.

"I had no idea, Harry, honestly," Hermione breathed, turning her head back to the articles. Together, they looked down at the clippings, Hermione learning why she was assumed dead for what was apparently the first time, Harry reliving the emotion and despair he'd felt when he first found out.

* * *

 **Voldemort Supporters Murder Australian Muggles**

 **Possible Connections to Golden Girl Hermione Granger**

By Rose Marlow, Junior Editor

Late last week, Aurors responded to a tip that Voldemort supporters who escaped after the Battle of Hogwarts had been spotted in Australia. Upon arriving in Brisbane, Australia, Aurors were able to track Antonin Dolohov and Thorfinn Rowle to a nearby muggle neighborhood. Several houses had been attacked. Aurors discovered the bodies of seven muggles but were not able to determine their identities.

While there was no clear motive at the time, detectives the Department of Magical Law Enforcement have since uncovered evidence that eighteen-year-old Hermione Granger may have been residing in one of the houses that was attacked. It is unclear whether or not she was present at the time of the attack, nor is it clear whether or not the evidence actually points to Ms. Granger herself.

Both Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley refused to comment, but a source in the Auror Department did confirm that these two members of the "Golden Trio," currently in training to becomes Aurors themselves, have been assigned to the case.

Both Dolohov and Rowle are now in Ministry custody. Their trial is set for this Wednesday.

 **The Battle of Hogwarts: One Year Later**

By Henrietta Marks

The scene across Wizarding England today may remind older generations of similar celebrations 18 years ago, when Voldemort was defeated for the first time. Parties will be held, toasts will be made, and fireworks will light up the night sky. Yet for many families, the celebratory occasion will be bittersweet.

Despite the clear triumph of good over evil, this past year has marked a continuation of fighting. Aurors have been busy rounding up suspected and known Death Eaters and their supporters. Attacks continued to frighten the Wizarding and Muggle worlds, and St. Mungo's has been near capacity many times.

Kingsley Shakelbolt, our new Minister of Magic, announced yesterday that the official ceremony commemorating the May 2nd victory would make a conscious effort to both celebrate and mourn. For example, while there will be a ministry gala, Minister Shakelbolt, Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley together will be unveiling a statue on which will be inscribed the names of every causality from the war. Said list has been reprinted below this article.

Yet some names are missing from the list. Of particular note is the irony of Hermione Granger, a young woman who was instrumental in weakening Voldemort's position leading up to the Battle of Hogwarts. As many know, the young Gryffindor worked tirelessly with friends and classmates Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley over the course of a year to track down and destroy a form of extremely dark and illegal magic used by Voldemort. And, as many know, some items supposedly belonging to Ms. Granger were discovered in an Australian home last June, during an investigation into Death Eater attacks in which 7 were found dead. Though Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley insist that Ms. Granger is alive and well somewhere, the Auror Department has officially declared her missing. Did Ms. Granger survive the war only to die not weeks later? Or is she still out there somewhere?

 **Most Eligible Bachelor No Longer! **

By Rita Skeeter

Hang your hopes, ladies. The hero Harry Potter, often known as the Boy-Who-Lived and the young man who defeated Lord Voldemort in May of 1998, has won Most Eligible Bachelor for the past three years in a row, but he won't be winning any longer.

Anyone who attended last night's Holyhead Harpies game will know why. After a spectacular win against the Montrose Magpies, #27 Ginevra Weasley was surprised on the field by none other than her well-known boyfriend, Harry Potter. He proposed and she said yes to the sound of 1000 fans screaming.

One fan and friend of Ms. Weasley (soon to be Mrs. Potter) told reporters, "If the proposal was extraordinary, just wait until you see the ring!" Just wait indeed. Sources informed reporters that Mr. Potter had been planning a proposal for many years, but that the couple had been waiting. When asked why, the source mentioned the couple's friend Hermione Granger, who was declared missing two years ago.

Readers will remember a bout of Death Eater attacks in Australia in the summer of 1998; some of Ms. Granger's belongings were identified at the scene. The only female member of the Golden Trio was initially presumed dead and has since been declared officially missing by the Ministry of Magic. Though Mr. Potter's and Ms. Weasley's happiness was shining bright for all to see last night, this reporter wonders if the disappearance of their long-time friend dampened the mood in private.

Mr. Potter, true to his fashion, has neglected to comment on this recent life event. The Weasley matriarch, a stout but boisterous witch famous for killing Bellatrix Lestrange, told reporters "Harry has been family since the moment we met him, but of course we're thrilled to be making it official."

* * *

Hermione looked up at him when she had finished reading the three short clippings. "Well, Skeeter didn't call me a slut. That's something, right?"

Harry let out of bark of laughter, unable to restrain surprise and amusement at Hermione's first response to the articles about her disappearance. He supposed she wasn't actually trying to make light of the situation, but her joke did ease the tension he was feeling.

Here, sitting next to him on a bench in the United States, was the girl he'd been looking for nearly every time he traveled for the past 10 years. Those first few years it had been all he could think about. He and Ron would have been rushed through training anyways because of their experience with Death Eaters, but they had worked extra hard to finish quickly because of Hermione.

Even the training program Harry piloted had in fact been inspired by Hermione. When they realized she hadn't returned to Britain, all official searching essentially stopped. They couldn't get access to files in other countries, and most Auror departments simply didn't have the training necessary to work across international lines. Harry had presented his idea to Shakelbolt under a different guise, using some line about how Aurors would have been able to prevent the second war if they'd been able to search for Voldemort before he returned to England, but everyone in his personal life knew it was really about Hermione. And yet here she was. Apparently never actually missing.

"I guess I just don't understand," he finally said in response, turning to face her. She had been one of his best friends for seven years. His anger slowly dissipating, he relaxed his shoulders and looked to her for answers.

Hermione sighed. "I wasn't sure I was ready," she said so softly that he had to lean closer to hear her. "I suppose I don't have much of a choice now, do I? Ready or not, I owe you an explanation."

* * *

Hermione handed the newspaper clippings back to Harry, who put them back into a slot in his briefcase. She grasped her hands together and placed them gingerly in her lap. Once, she had envisioned what this moment might be like. She had planned what she might say if and when she decided to contact her former best friends. She had even thought briefly about it last night, after spotting Harry at _Lisa's,_ but still thought she would have more time to plan — to think.

Now Harry was sitting next to her, looking at her expectantly, evidence of hope and hurt criss-crossing his face like metaphorical tracks, each leading to a possible outcome. Ready or not, she owed him an explanation.

"It took me two weeks to find my parents," she began, almost whispering at first. "I had to use a combination of spells and regular Muggle searching — phone books and such — but I searched official records in each city for people with the names I'd given them and found their dental practice in Brisbane. Restoring their memories wasn't actually that difficult. It was their reactions that were the problem."

She glanced quickly up at Harry and realized within seconds that if she wanted to get through this explanation, she couldn't look at him. Hermione immediately refocused her gaze on her shoes and then closed her eyes, simultaneously reliving and suppressing the emotions that had overwhelmed her 10 years ago.

"What I did to them — it was unforgivable. I had convinced myself that I did it for their safety, and that's how I explained it to them. They're my parents, so they pretended everything was okay. But I knew it wasn't. So I listened to them talking one night . . . about me . . . about what I had done."

Hermione shuddered, her voice cracking, "'It's like she raped my mind with magic,' my mum said. They had been so proud of me — their daughter the witch, top of her class at Hogwarts. I'd been struggling before that, but everything came racing at me when I overheard that. I know that magic isn't inherently bad" she said, glancing sharply at Harry out of the corner of her eye but avoiding eye contact, "but despite my good intentions, I've hurt the people I love most in the world."

"We only stayed in Australia for a week after that. I confronted mum about it the next day — nearly broke my wand in half, actually, but she took it from me . . . said she wouldn't let me destroy a part of myself. But I couldn't return to England. I couldn't face the world I suddenly hated — the world I suddenly regretted being a part of. Mum suggested going to a muggle university as a fresh start, so I did. I came here, to the states, and went to university. They came with me —"

Hermione broke off suddenly, not sure how to continue. Sometime during her story, Harry had put his arm around her.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said, wiping away tears she hadn't realized had fallen on her cheeks. She looked up at him.

"I should have contacted you, but I couldn't," she admitted. "I loved you, Harry. You were like my brother. But I think maybe a part of me blamed you for the things I'd done. It wasn't right of me to do that," she added quickly, "but at the time, I needed to just be muggle Hermione and I couldn't separate magical Hermione from muggle Hermione without also cutting out you and Ron."

Harry nodded, but looked away from her and didn't say anything. She couldn't be sure what he was thinking, though she hoped he understood her reasoning. In the long silence that lay between them like stale air, Hermione's thoughts drifted back to the articles from his briefcase.

"You didn't fail me, Harry," she said, also looking toward the ground. "Or maybe you did. But if you failed me, then we failed each other."

At this Harry finally looked at her again. "I'm sorry about your parents, and how you felt after finding them," he told her firmly, genuine remorse evident in his tone. His tone quickly changed drastically at his next words, though: "But that was 10 years ago. It's been 10 years, Hermione. Or should I call you Mrs. Malfoy?"

If his intention had been to pierce her heart with words, he might have succeeded. The anger was back in full force and it's vehicle was the name "Malfoy." Fortunately for her, Harry's opinion regarding her husband didn't matter nearly as much to her now as it would have years ago. She owed him an explanation regarding her treatment of their friendship, not her love life.

"You can call me whatever you like, Harry," she said, biting back. "Yes, I've apparated away from you twice. Yes, it's been 10 years and I haven't reached out. Honestly, if you hadn't shown up today, I don't know that I ever would have."

Hermione ignored the look Harry gave her: the disappointment and disgust he tried to hide but couldn't. She stood up, noticing the movement of a familiar car at the other end of the park. Looking back down at Harry, she said, "I like my life, Harry. I like who I am. 10 years ago, the last thing I wanted was to be Hermione Granger, muggleborn Gryffindor who fought in the war. You were my family back then, and we could probably be family again. But I'm not the same girl I was at Hogwarts and I don't intend to be her ever again."

She hadn't really intended to say any of that. In fact, Hermione hadn't planned anything she said; it all just came out. Once it was out, she felt as though it was the right thing to say, no matter how Harry responded. But before she could hear what that response may be, she heard something else: the familiar sound of children shouting gleefully as they ran across the field.

"Mummy! Mummy!"

* * *

Draco gulped down the last of his coffee greedily, willing the traffic light to stay red for just long enough for him to put the travel container back into the cupholder. It had been a long morning. It had been a long morning, and it was only just nearing 10am.

The twins had been ready to leave quickly enough, and Oliver was no problem at all, but Miranda apparently thought she could sneak Verona (her owl) into school by hiding the animal in her backpack. It took Draco threatening to return Verona to Eylops Emporium before she gave him up in exchange for a favorite book Draco had packed just in case.

Of course, then Draco had to return home with the owl, wrangle the twins back into the car (they had decided a change of clothes was in order for absolutely no reason as far as Draco could tell), and set back off for the park. He would have preferred to apparate, but three squirmy children made for unsafe side-along apparation and he wasn't going to risk it. Besides, the park he had in mind was frequented by Muggles more than wizards; appearing out of the blue wouldn't exactly go unnoticed.

As they pulled into the parking lot, the twins chatter got more excited. They loudly announced which jungle gym equipment they wanted to play on, asking Draco to push them on a swing or go on various climbing features. He smiled back at them, promising to participate but reminding them that Oliver could only do so much.

Before unlocking the doors, Draco turned around in his seat and looked his children in the eyes.

"What are the rules for playing at the park?" He asked sternly. Hermione's mom-voice could stop a crowd of Mirandas, but Draco's dad voice worked wonders with the twins.

Caelum and Carina hushed immediately and glanced at each other nervously.

"No pushing or fighting," Caelum offered.

"Stay where you can see us," Carina followed.

"Don't talk to strangers," Caelum continued.

"No magic because there's muggles," Carina finished.

Draco nodded, satisfied with their answers. Going to the park was a regular enough event that the twins knew what was expected of them behavior wise. During the summers, they had spent nearly every day at the park with with him, Hermione, or their nanny. It wouldn't be nearly as crowded today, during school hours, so Draco wasn't nearly as concerned as he sometimes was.

Reminding them to stay by the car until they were all ready, Draco unlocked the doors and got out to take Oliver out of his carseat. The twins climbed out the other side, and within seconds Carina was pulling on his leg.

"Daddy! Daddy!" He looked down, pulling out Oliver and attempting to situate the baby comfortably in what Draco called the backwards-baby-backpack, a contraption Hermione had been given as a gift when Miranda was born and which she insisted they use to carry babies like a backpack on their chests ever since.

"What is it Carina?" He asked, wondering what had excited her so much within seconds of getting her feet on the asphalt.

"It's mummy!"

"What?" Draco asked, doubting that his children had actually spotted Hermione.

"Over there!" Carina informed him, pointing across the park. Caelum had already started running.

"Caelum Atticus Malfoy, you freeze right now young man!" Draco called, shaking his head at the child who, not 12 hours ago, had been complaining of a fever. Caelum stopped immediately in his tracks and turned to face his father.

"It's mummy, daddy! Mummy's here!" The little boy informed him, his dark blonde hair falling in his eyes as he bounced up and down.

Draco shook his head again, peering across the park. He had to hand it to the twins, the female figure standing by a bench did look like his wife.

"It is! It's Mummy!" Carina assured him. Draco sighed. "She said she would meet us here, Daddy. At breakfast!" The children were insistent now, and growing impatient with his disbelief. Draco considered his options. Worst case scenario, he figured, the twins would run towards a stranger and feel embarrassed. Best case scenario, his wife actually had joined them.

"Alright then," he said. "Stay where I can see you." And off they went. He followed after them at a steady pace, never far enough behind that he couldn't catch them both with a few sprinted steps, playing with Oliver every now and then as they moved.

"Mummy! Mummy!" his children were shouting. The closer the group got, the more he realized that his twins were right. Hermione was standing by the bench, but she wasn't alone. Next to her was Harry Potter.

* * *

A/N - I know some of you want to see more of Hermione and Draco's relationship. That will come a bit later. In the meantime, what do you think of Harry and Hermione's meeting?


	5. Chapter 5

A/N - Alright people, here's the deal:

1) If you're going to leave a lengthy review (i.e something I could actually respond to) please at least have the decency to sign in. I don't care if you're saying something good or bad, just sign in. A few of you have been giving me some really interesting feedback and I've wanted to respond and discuss it with you only to find that you reviewed anonymously. I understand not wanting to get into a back and forth with an author, and I promise I'm not the type to do that. But seriously, constructive criticism or questions or whatever only works if it's a two way street.

2) If you don't like Dramione as a pairing, don't read a Dramione story. It's really that simple. You don't need to leave a review telling me why you hate the pairing. You're entitled to your opinion, obviously, but your review isn't going to change my mind.

3) If you have something negative to say about the story, you are more than welcome to review and tell me. Negative feedback/criticism is actually super helpful to the writing process. But if you start cursing in your review, I will delete you or report you. Be classy, people.

Now that I've gotten that off my chest . . . on to chapter 5! As promised, we get more of Dramione in this one, and you'll also get a bit of Draco's backstory.

* * *

Draco walked carefully, letting a neutral mask fall into place the closer he got to the other two adults. While Hermione bent down to hug their twins, Draco's eyes bore into Harry's. Neither man spoke to one another, but neither man took their eyes off one another either.

He faintly registered that his children were rambling on about something, but Carina caught his attention when she asked, "Mummy, who's this?"

Draco froze, having just reached the group. Hermione answered, "This is someone I went to school with when I was younger," she told the three year old. "He's in town for work because his office and my office are doing a special project together," she added, probably more for Draco's benefit than their children's.

"Potter. You look well," Draco said as a greeting, aiming to seem as cordial as possible in front of his children. He shifted his weight so that Oliver wouldn't be in the way and stuck out his hand. Harry's eyebrows crinkled in response; no hand was offered in return.

"Don't worry, Mr.," Caelum addressed Harry, "Daddy made sure we took our potion this morning and he cleans his hands all the time because he doesn't like germs."

Draco noticed Hermione hide a snort of laughter and tried not to fidget at the awkwardness of this situation. At least his children didn't know how truly uncomfortable the moment was. After what felt like an hour, Harry grasped Draco's hand lightly and gave it one quick shake, eyebrows never ceasing to convey their confusion and distrust.

Carina and Caelum lost interest quickly, as they often did with serious things when in the presence of swings, and were soon begging their mother to play with them. With a nod to show he would be fine with Hermione's former best friend, Draco watched his wife run off with the three year olds before turning to face the raven haired man beside him.

"So . . ." he began, assuming correctly that Harry was too busy starting angrily at him to say anything. "Did you two have time to talk?"

If looks could kill, Harry's would have . . . well, not killed, but at least maimed Draco a bit.

"What have you done to her?" He accused, almost growling.

Draco spun around, neutral mask no longer accounted for and mouth agape. "Excuse me?"

Harry inched closer, each word becoming more pointed as he spoke, like daggers being sharpened before a fight. "You heard me, Malfoy. Hermione goes missing, then shows up 10 years later married to a man who treated her like shit, and I'm expected to believe it happened naturally? What did you do to her?"

Not willing to give Harry the power, Draco turned back to face forward instead of continuing to look at the man. Draco bounced lightly on the balls of his feet and tried his hardest to keep his voice level and cheerful so as to not upset the baby.

"I have done nothing except love and support my wife, Potter," he responded eventually. "You haven't been in contact with her for 10 years. You don't know her anymore, and you certainly don't know me. So don't go making assumptions just because you don't like the boy I was 10 years ago."

Draco felt rather than saw Harry tense up. In his anger, the man's magic was practically radiating off of him and Draco had to hold in a scoff. The man was nearly 30 and still, he couldn't control his magic! The waves of magic Draco was feeling were similar to the waves Miranda let off before performing accidental magic, and she was already learning to control that. Placing a protective arm around Oliver, Draco turned slightly and focused on extending thoughts of calm and family to his child.

"10 years ago, you were a Death Eater," Harry spat.

Draco raised an eyebrow, allowing years of practice masking his emotions to hide the hurt and shame that still washed over him from time to time. "10 years ago, I was a scared teenager, overwhelmed by a life I didn't ask for, controlled by a man who controlled hundreds more skilled than me, and desperate to save my family any way I knew how." Draco paused. "Those are your words, Potter. Your words to the Wizenagamot at my trial."

At this reminder from the past, Harry froze. Draco continued, "You don't have to trust me, you don't have to respect me, and you certainly don't have to remind me of the terrible things I've done. I know damn well what I've done. But you said so yourself: we were both just pawns in someone else's game. Maybe you're still playing, but I wanted nothing more to do with it from the moment your testimony and Snape's memories set me free. I came here, I ran into Hermione, and that's all I need to say to you."

"Oh, and I'm just supposed to believe that you two finding one another was a mere coincidence? You didn't seek her out?" Harry unfroze, his voice grasping desperately at wisps of self assurance, hopeful that this accusation would be the one to break his former nemesis.

"Of course I sought her out," Draco admitted, shrugging. "There are only a handful of muggle universities that accept magical secondary school diplomas and even fewer that accept ones from international schools like Hogwarts. Seeing as neither Hermione nor I actually got our diplomas, our list of options was even shorter. I didn't know she'd be going to university when I applied, but I did seek her out when I got there and my muggleborn roommate mentioned meeting another Hogwarts student. I only intended to apologize . . ." his voice trailed off, thinking back to those first weeks before shaking himself back to the present.

"I don't owe you our love story, Potter," he said confidently, actually amused that he so easily lapsed into love-story territory and blaming years of letting his guard down for the potential slip-up. "Like I said, it's been 10 years. You're practically a stranger to us."

Across the way, Draco's children were now racing around the slides. Hermione was chasing them, making crazy faces and causing shrieking peels of laugher to burst out each time she "just missed" catching them. Draco smiled. Oliver had fallen asleep, his small head leaning back against his father's chest at an odd angle. Just as Hermione scooped up the twins in one motion and their giggles lashed out like whips as their legs flew into the air, Harry spoke:

"And whose fault is that?" Draco made a face at the question, but didn't give into Harry's verbal sparring by looking toward him. "I've been searching for her for 10 years. I've tried to find her; she didn't let herself be found. She admitted it herself; she's been running from me."

Draco sighed, fighting the urge to make the man believe that Draco was not the same scared, ignorant kid he was when they'd last met. He'd thought through this a few times before.

He had been grateful when Harry's testimony had set Draco free; between Snape's memories and the boy-who-lived's assurances, Draco had been allowed to go virtually penalty free. His wand had been confiscated for two years (the same amount of time he'd been a Death Eater), but he'd decided to take a break from the Wizarding World even before his trial. His father had gone straight to Azkaban, of course, and his mother had been placed on house arrest for five years, but he didn't mind that either.

It was Hermione, after a few years, who convinced him to buy a new wand and write to his mother. It was Hermione who, over the course of their years at university, helped him acclimate to the muggle world. It was Hermione who suggested he study chemistry and pharmacology when he'd been struggling to determine what he wanted to do with his life now that familial pressures didn't matter. It was Hermione, he decided, that he owed something to. And it was Hermione, he realized, who Harry was targeting with accusations.

"Honestly Potter, I'm calling bullshit," Draco finally announced matter-of-factly, continuing to stare across the park and returning a wave his family was giving him. Draco heard Harry make a very unattractive sound, but he continued staring ahead, unfazed. "First of all, grow up. People change and drift apart. But second — and more importantly — I'm calling bullshit. You claim to have been looking for her for 10 years, but either your dumber than you look, or you weren't really looking."

Harry made a few more unattractive noises that Draco figured might have been an attempt at a rebuttal, so he turned to face the man and explained, "Australia is much bigger than US; unlike her parents she didn't actually change her name; multiple people knew where she was including McGonagall; and, though Gringotts did tighten security after your little Dragon incident, I'm sure the boy-who-lived could have talked the goblins into telling you where Hermione's money was going: a university in the states. There were also a number of locator spells and potions that might have worked, and if that failed, you could have searched for her parents. Richard and Jane have been gallivanting around the globe since just after our wedding. I know Hermione's a genius and all, but it really shouldn't have been hard to find her. Hell, Potter, she's been working for a magical government for the past five years. Her name was all over the American Magical papers a year ago when she was appointed to deputy . . . . Maybe Hermione's too nice to call bullshit, or maybe she doesn't want to believe you never actually tried, but neither apply to me. I say you're full of it."

"You don't know the first thing about it, Malfoy!" Harry retorted angrily.

Draco raised an eyebrow at him. "You're right," he agreed. "I don't know the first thing about whatever lies you've told yourself. But I do know my wife. And I know that if you knew the first thing about her, you would have been able to find her."

Draco looked back across the park to where his family had been playing. Hermione was walking back toward him with the twins, motioning to her watch. He checked his own. The twins would be getting hungry.

"I know my wife, Potter" Draco said quickly and somewhat quietly, turning his face so that Hermione wouldn't read his lips or guess his tone. "She's the most forgiving person I know; she'll welcome you back into her life if you want back in. But if you take advantage of that forgiveness the way you took advantage of her friendship for 7 years, I will personally ensure you regret it."

Luckily, Harry didn't have a chance to respond.

"Thank Merlin for potions, right?" Hermione asked sarcastically, coming to the adults looking exhausted. Draco pointed to a diaper bag resting on the ground near his feet and the twins immediately began rummaged for snacks. Happy with their loot, the two three year olds ran off to a picnic table, leaving the adults alone.

"At least it's not a day cooped up inside with sick kids," Draco quipped.

When Miranda had fallen ill with strep last year, they had taken her to a muggle pediatrician who had prescribed muggle medicine. The school explained that Miranda would not be allowed back to school until she was no longer contagious, and since the muggle medicine took time to act, it took time to get Miranda up and running again. This time, Draco had been more prepared. He'd put his chemistry and pharmacology degrees to work with his potions skills and came up with a magical equivalent to the medicine that worked better and faster. The negative side effect? Figuring out what to do with perfectly healthy children while they pretended to wait for the contagion to subside.

"At least there's that," Hermione agreed, glancing lovingly at the baby sleeping on Draco's chest. Her eyes darted nervously to Harry, who had been silent ever since Draco's warning. "I have to get back to work," she explained, hesitating as if unsure.

Harry nodded curtly and picked up his briefcase. "I suppose I owe your boss an apology," he offered rather reluctantly.

Draco recognized the look of contemplation crossing Hermione's face. "I suppose we both do," she answered, reaching out her arm as an offer of side along apparation. Harry took her arm after a moment's hesitation and Draco looked to his wife in support.

"See you at home," she told her husband, and then they both apparated away.

* * *

Harry wasn't sure how to feel after the day he'd had.

He and Hermione had returned to her office, apologized to Branford independently (his apology had been brief and Branford had been courteous but firm; Hermione's had lasted ten minutes), and had gone about their business as professionals — nothing more. It was odd and uncomfortable to say the very least, made especially so by the fact that they barely spoke to each other or looked at each other throughout various meetings. Harry ended the day extremely apprehensive; they had a full day's worth of facility tours tomorrow and he wasn't sure he could stand that many more hours of awkwardness.

On the plus side, he figured, Hermione's goodbye had been friendly enough. She had simply smiled at him and said "see you in the morning," but it hadn't been cold or uncomfortable.

Now he was back in the hotel, eating a leftover sandwich from the office-sponsored lunch and recounting his day with Ginny via mirror. He had told her a brief synopsis of the day, minus Draco's "calling bullshit" explanation. That, Harry had decided, was best kept to himself until he worked through everything it made him feel and question. Now he was answering questions, helping Ginny process what he'd had a day — but would probably need a lifetime — to process.

"The twins looked to be about James's age," he explained, answering Ginny's question about Hermione's children, "and Malfoy had a baby strapped to him with some muggle contraption — somewhere between 5 and 7 months old I'd figure."

Ginny had placed the mirror down on their bathroom counter; Harry could hear her shuffling about, preparing for bed. "I still can't believe you actually found her," she called, "let alone that she's married to Malfoy and had his children! On the plus side, when she comes back to England, James will have some new playmates."

"Uh Gin," Harry started, feeling that perhaps his wife did need to hear all the details after all, "I don't know that she'll be coming back."

His wife's freckled nose appeared in the mirror, and then her full face. "Why wouldn't she?" Ginny asked, but then answered her own question. "England is her home. All her friends are here. Whatever issues she was having with magic after the war have clearly been resolved . . . of course she'll come home."

Harry swallowed hard. A day ago, he would have been in complete agreement with Ginny. Heck, earlier this morning he would have been in complete agreement with Ginny. But now . . .

Draco's words rang in Harry's ear, just as they'd been ringing in his ears all day. At first, he'd dismissed them entirely. _Malfoy was just trying to get under my skin_ , he'd figured. True, Harry hated the man, but the more Harry thought about some of Draco's key points, the more concerned he became.

Their first official meeting had occurred in Hermione's office. Hermione had offered him her chair, opting to stand next to the desk and walk around as she talked instead, a choice Harry eventually realized was a power move, giving her the literal high ground over the other two men in the room and granting her control of where they looked. Of course, she couldn't control all of Harry's glances. No matter what, his eyes were continuously drawn to the pictures of her family in frames on her desk and walls. Wedding pictures and family portraits were interspersed among official looking photographs of Hermione with important government officials: photographic evidence of a life Hermione had built over the past ten years.

Harry felt even more torn as they worked throughout the day. He noticed things. After all, he didn't go through Auror training for nothing . . . and he noticed Hermione. It wasn't anything particularly surprising, but he noticed the easy rapport she had with her colleagues. He noticed that the day planner she'd opened up when it came time to schedule more meetings and walk-throughs was jam-packed with things like book clubs and birthday parties, not just work events. And he noticed that her muggle cell phone lit up frequently with texts, many of which were from Malfoy.

The more he was forced to confront evidence of a life Harry knew nothing about, the more Harry had to think about the other things Draco had pointed out. Finally, sitting in the hotel room, Harry thought about Draco's last warning. There had been a few times when he and Ron had needed Hermione's forgiveness — after a scare (but nothing too bad) from the business end of her wand, they'd be back on track — and had to admit that Draco had a point. Hermione did tend to forgive rather easily. And if Draco was right about that, perhaps Harry had to accept that Draco was right about other things as well.

"I don't think so, Gin," he said finally, calling her attention back to him in the mirror. "She has a life here. I think . . . I think maybe there's a lot we don't know. I mean, she married Malfoy for Merlin's sake! Clearly we didn't know her as well as we thought we did."

Ginny rolled her eyes, levitating a box as she shuffled back to their bedroom. Shortly after their marriage, they'd rented a flat together in Wales while Ginny played for the Harpies. Then they'd lived at the Burrow for a few years when James was born, but now that Ginny was officially writing about Quidditch instead of playing it, and now that their family was expanding yet again, they'd decided to buy a house. It had been nearly a year, but they were still in the process of unpacking.

"Harry, she was alone in a foreign country, clearly dealing with major emotional trauma." Ginny responded, "Of course she made a life for herself; just because she married the first guy who was at all familiar and found a way to pass the time doesn't mean it's a good life or even the life she's supposed to have."

"Don't you think you're making assumptions too fast?" Harry asked, trying not to sound accusatory. Ginny had a tendency see the world one way and one way only, and to to be hotheaded whenever anyone tried to get her to come around to their view.

"No, I don't," Ginny stated confidently. "But if you're worried, why not just ask her? "

"Ginny —"

"Albus is crying," his wife announced, cutting him off. "Listen, don't tell Ron yet. The man's been not-so-secretly pining for her for a decade; I want to be there when he finds out you found her."

Harry sighed. "Okay."

"Okay great! I love you! Goodnight!"

Harry repeated the sentiments and watched as his wife's face disappeared from the glass. Once all he could see was his own reflection, he put the mirror away and looked at his watch. He still had plenty of time before it would be reasonable to go to sleep and no clue how to spend his time.

* * *

Hermione sighed and dragged a hand through her hair as she quietly shut Caelum's door.

"Some day, huh?" Draco whispered, coming out of Carina's room the hall. Hermione nodded faintly.

"Some day," she repeated, walking into her husband's now outstretched arms. His arms wrapped tightly around her torso out of habit, pulling her close to his chest and resting his chin on the top of her head. Apparently some of her curls had gotten into his mouth, because Hermione heard him blowing gently across the top of her head and felt a few stray curls moving awkwardly on her scalp.

She sighed again and pushed her head into his chest, comforted by the safe and familiar feeling of his embrace.

"You ok?" she heard him ask, and she nodded. But he knew better than to trust that answer.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he followed up, a hand rubbing light circles on her back.

"Not really," Hermione confessed, despite the fact that she was usually one for talking through emotions. "Do you have work to do tonight?"

Draco pulled away enough to see Hermione's face, still holding her, but at arms length. "What did you have in mind?"

"Toy Story 2?" Hermione asked sheepishly. Draco laughed, pulled her close, and kissed her forehead.

"Let's do it."

As Draco set up the movie downstairs and Hermione assembled snacks from the pantry, she thought back fondly to the first time they'd watched this particular movie and why it had become her go-to for a night of nostalgia and comfort.

 **********FLASHBACK**********

 **November 1999**

Hermione closed her planner and sighed. Her second semester of university was nearly over and she still hadn't declared a major, which bothered her. She had to register for next semester's classes and wasn't sure what to take.

If she was really being honest with herself, though, she had to admit that her emotional turmoil was more than just course-related. When she passed the one-year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts last May, she'd been a mess. Everyone assumed she was just stressed about final exams; Draco new the truth, though. He'd actually offered to go back to London with her, but she wasn't ready. Just thinking about being back there . . . she'd only just stopped having panic attacks whenever she tried to use magic, and even now she had nightmares. Now, she was better, but only slightly.

With a stretch, Hermione pushed herself out of the wooden desk chair, flopped onto her bed, and looked around her dorm room. It wasn't awful, but it was no Hogwarts. The girl she was living with — a friend from last semester named Allyson — had immediately covered her wall in photographs and posters of musicians and movies. Hermione had eventually opted to let Allyson pick out decor for the rest of the walls as well, but they remained fairly bare compared to Allyson's side. That and, much to Allyson's chagrin, their bed linens clashed horribly.

Hermione lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, when she heard a knock on the door.

"Come in!" she called, not moving.

The door creaked a bit as it slowly opened and Hermione sat up to see who it was. Draco Malfoy's blonde head was poking through a crack he'd made in the doorway.

"Hey," she greeted, flopping back down onto her bed.

"Hey," he responded, coming into the room, shutting the door behind him. "You ok?"

"Not really," she answered, still not moving. After a moment of silence, she felt movement at the foot of her bed and realized that Draco had sat down. It surprised her momentarily, as it still often did, that they had become so comfortable around one another.

"Me neither," he replied softly. Hermione propped herself up on her elbows and shook some hair out of her eyes to see him more clearly. He was facing outwards, his legs dangling off her bed, his hands folded in her lap. "Today is my mum's birthday," he told her without looking at her.

Hermione felt a wave of sorrow wash over her. Draco had told her very early on what had happened to his family. She knew that he didn't miss his father but his mother, whose reaction to Draco leaving the UK had been vicious to say the least, was a constant sore spot for him.

"Have you written to her?" She asked, having a feeling she already knew the answer and surprising herself again by that fact.

Draco nodded slightly. "No response, which I understand. She feels like I abandoned her, and in a way, I did." Draco paused for a few minutes, during which time Hermione said nothing, knowing he just needed to think.

"I hated her a bit, I think," he said after a time, finally looking at Hermione. "I don't hate her now; I understand why she did the things she did. But I think I still blame her for letting him control me like that. For staying with him."

The _him_ , Hermione knew, was Lucius. In all the time she'd known the new Draco, as she called him, she had only ever heard him say his father's name twice (and he never called Lucius his father, just Lucius, or _him_ ).

Hermione was silent, but nodded and sat up.

"I blame Ron," she confessed. Of course, she and Draco had actually talked about all of this before, in different terms. They'd kept conversation light at first, when they first re-met last Spring. But as she came to forgive him, and as they realized how much they actually had in common, their conversations became more personal and more intense.

"I know it's silly," she continued. "But I keep thinking that if he hadn't been so terrible to me in first year, there never would have been the thing with the troll, and we never would have become friends. I could have just been an ordinary muggleborn witch."

Draco scoffed. "You're Hermione fucking Granger," he told her strongly, ignoring it when she flinched at the name Hermione. "You never would have been ordinary, no matter who your friends were. Yeah, Weasley was a little shit that year, but so was I, if you recall."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "How could I possibly forget?"

In a moment of tense silence, Draco reached out toward her face. Hermione's eyes grew wide, but all he did was tuck a stray curl behind her ear.

"Let's forget about them," he suggested, his body still turned toward hers. "Forget my mum, forget him, forget Potter, forget Weasley . . . forget them all. The past is in the past, right?"

Hermione nodded silently, forgetting what they had been talking about. For a second, all she could see was his silver eyes. Then she blinked tightly, mentally shaking herself out of it, telling herself to pull it together.

"I didn't come here to talk about my mum," Draco admitted, turning away from her, his cheeks tinged an almost unnoticeable pink. Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"I didn't come here for that either, actually," Draco continued, referencing the sexual tension that crackled like a fire between them.

They had kissed a few times over the course of the past few months at parties and other social events. After the second time, they had come to an unspoken agreement that, given their connected backgrounds and the way only they could truly understand what the other was going through, a few kisses here and there were probably harmless side affects of their proximity and alcohol-fueled energy. Of course, they completed avoided talking about the way the heat got more intense when they were alone together, or the way the feelings didn't go away when they were sober.

"What then?" Hermione asked, confused by the pit in her stomach.

"Remember when we rented that VHS about the talking toys?" He asked, the pink on his cheeks darkening. Hermione laughed.

"You want to watch Toy Story?" she practically guffawed, remembering how determined she'd been to introduce him to movies over their summer break and how bored he'd pretended to be afterwards, despite never taking his eyes off the screen and getting upset when she paused the movie for a bathroom break.

"The second one is out in theaters," he told her seriously, clearly ignoring the blush that was creeping onto his face. "I was wondering if you wanted to go see it tonight."

Hermione was taken aback. Sure, they'd hung out just the two of them before. They lived in the same building, after all, and had taken four classes together over the past two semesters. Heck, he even spent two weeks of summer break at her parents' house while he transferred more money out of Gringotts to stay in a hotel. But they'd never gone off campus. They'd never done this.

"Are you asking me on a date?" she finally asked at a whisper. Draco was silent, staring at her as if to gauge how she was feeling.

Then he sighed. "Yes, I think I am."

Hermione inhaled. She pit in her stomach had migrated to her chest, and then her throat. She willed herself not to be so excited, to ignore the tightening muscles below her abdomen, to stop looking at his damn lips. She called to mind memories of his behavior as a child — the way he teased her, the way he bullied her — and was annoyed that her mind simply negated it all with one phrase: he's fucking fit though.

Draco was staring at her expectantly, worry lines creasing his forehead.

Finally, it seemed, he couldn't take her silence anymore. "I understand if the answer is no. We can just go as friends, if you'd prefer. I know I don't deserve anything more . . . I honestly don't even deserve —"

Hermione cut him off. "Just give me a few moments to get ready," she said, and saw his eyes light up.

"You don't have to change!" He insisted, standing, eyes roving over her body.

Hermione looked down. She was wearing jeans and a black scoop neck sweater. Pink socks poked out of the cuffed bottoms. Then she looked him over. A black button down hung down over dark jeans. It was casual, but the fit was flawless. "Let me at least change my bottoms," she insisted, ignoring the fact that her mouth was literally watering.

He agreed, and she practically shoved him out the door with the promise to let him back in after a few minutes. She was surprised at how excited she was, how willing she was to date a boy who had caused her so much pain and suffering. But, she rationalized, thinking back to the Draco she'd gotten to know recently, he wasn't that boy anymore. She hadn't entirely forgiven him for his actions, and she wasn't sure that she ever would. But they could talk for hours on end, he was fucking fit, and she had never — in her entire life — felt so comfortable with another human being. It scared her, how much she liked him, but she figured that was a problem for another day. For now, she decided as she picked out what Allyson would deem a "first-date worthy" outfit, she was a regular 19 year old girl going on a date with a regular 19 year old boy.

When she was satisfied with her new look, Hermione opened the door. Draco was leaning against the wall next to her door, and he spun around when he heard the door creak.

"Woah," he said, stepping into the room when she moved aside.

Hermione blushed inadvertently. Draco leaned casually against the wall, forcing their bodies to remain extremely close as Hermione reached around him for her purse.

"You know," he offered, his voice dropping to a sultry tone she'd never heard before. "We could stay here instead."

Hermione was surprised. She knew they had chemistry, of course, and their friendship was something she'd never had with Harry or Ron — a friendship based on mutual likes and dislikes, only bolstered by shared experience instead of founded on it. But she had never thought of herself as particularly attractive until now, when she saw the pure lust in Draco's eyes.

"We should go to the movie," she told him slowly, suddenly nervous. There had, of course, been rumors at Hogwarts about Draco's extracurricular activities. Rumors she hadn't given heed to until now.

"Yes, we should," he said, eyes never leaving hers as he offered her his arm.

Hermione froze. "Are we apparating?"

That got rid of the lust real fast. Draco's eyes cleared and immediately focused concern and comfort on her instead. He smiled gently at her. "No, I'm sorry," he gestured out the door with an open arm instead. "After you."

As Hermione walked out, Draco closing the door and following behind her, she realized that he hadn't intended to apparate at all. He was just being a gentleman. She shook her head slightly and smiled to herself. _What a crazy world I'm living in,_ she thought.

 **********END FLASHBACK**********

Hermione sank down into the massive couch Draco had insisted on purchasing a few years ago and had the same thought: _what a crazy world I'm living in_.

That night had been absolutely perfect. The movie theater was a 20 minute walk from their dorm room, but the weather had been lovely and they'd chatted the entire way there. He'd put his arm around her during the movie but had remained a perfect gentleman. They'd held hands on the walk home, finally discussing what they'd avoided discussing for so long. And when he dropped her off at her dorm room at the end of the night with nothing but a chaste kiss, she was stunned by how much she wanted more.

Years later, Draco would pinpoint that night as the night he decided to marry her (given that she'd have him, of course), but Hermione would always remember it as the first night she stared to feel like herself again.

"Ready?" Draco asked, shoving his hand into the bowl of popcorn in Hermione's lap.

Hermione nodded, her mouth already full of popcorn. She swallowed. "Ready."

Draco pressed play on the remote and sat back, throwing an arm around Hermione's shoulders as she settled into his side. As the movie began, Hermione let her confusion over Harry and her former life subside, albeit temporarily, and focused on the talking toys instead.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N - This is a short one compared to most of the other chapters, but more will soon follow!

* * *

The rest of the week was fairly uneventful. Harry and Hermione maintained a professional relationship, but were rarely alone together and didn't discuss their past. That is, until Harry's second-to-last day. Harry was leaving tomorrow evening and he knew he couldn't leave without knowing what would happen next, now that they'd come back into contact.

The pair had just returned from their last facility walk-through and were headed back to Hermione's office when Branford popped into their line of vision and waved Harry into his office.

Glancing uncertainly at Hermione's retreating figure — she continued on toward her office — Harry turned and went in the direction of the Secretary instead.

"Everything going well?" Branford asked kindly. Ever since that first uncomfortable day, Branford had been more cautious and less boisterous around Harry. It made Harry much more functional.

Harry nodded. "Absolutely," he reported. "All the walk-throughs have gone well. Everything seems to be falling into place."

"Good, good," the man answered, a touch of pride in his voice. "Listen, I know there's some . . . history between you and Hermione," he said, pausing slightly before saying 'Hermione,' as if he wasn't sure what to call her, "but I'm glad you're able to work together so well. And I'm working on that portkey situation, by the way. I can't make any promises, but I am working on it."

Harry reached out and clasped the man's arm lightly. "Thank you," he said.

After Branford confirmed that Harry was, in fact, leaving tomorrow, he said an advanced farewell "in case we miss each other tomorrow" and saw Harry out of the office.

Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves and reboot his determination, Harry turned back around, intent on catching Hermione before she left and forcing her to have a real conversation with him.

He was intercepted two more times en route from Branford's office to Hermione's — once to sign some documents and a second time by an intern asking if he needed coffee. When he finally got to her office, she was already packing up to leave.

"Ah Harry, good," she said, not meeting his eyes but gesturing for him to enter as she moved about behind her desk. "Since everything is on track to be finished next month, I'll start preparations for the press conference. Matthew will be there, and I'm assuming President Adams will want to be there as well. International cooperation was on her platform, after all. Our team will draw up statements for you too, if that's alright."

When he didn't say anything, Hermione paused her movements and looked up at him, a questioning eyebrow raised in his direction.

"Oh, uh —" he verbally stumbled, "that's - that's fine. Yeah."

Hermione gave him a look as if to say he was acting very strangely but looked back down and finished placing items into an oversized bag.

"Alright then," she stated firmly. "I'll see you tomorrow. Last meeting!"

Hermione started to walk around the desk _. Now or never,_ he thought.

"Hermione, wait!" She stopped and stared at him in confusion. It had gone unspoken — their decision not to talk about it — and now he was breaking that unspoken agreement. _She had to have seen this coming_ , he reasoned.

"We need to talk about this," he told her. Hermione scratched her nose and ran her hand across her cheek: two habits Harry remembered from their time hunting Horcruxes. He shuffled nervously.

"Look, I know that I don't really know you anymore," he confessed, admitting out loud something he had come to terms with days ago. "But I want to. You were like a sister to me once. I see now how maybe that didn't translate to being the most supportive friend . . . but you were still my family." He was standing more confidently now, bolstered by the softening look on Hermione's face.

"I don't owe you my story," Hermione said softly, sounding more like a warning than a rebuke.

"I know," Harry responded, stepping closer to her. "And I'm not going to push. I just — I've spent 10 years looking for you — I sucked at it, apparently, but it's true. I'd like to get to know you . . . again . . . and I'd like for you to get to know me."

Harry stood silently as Hermione thought it over. Finally, she took a long, shaky breath and looked up at him.

"Do you have dinner plans?"

Harry smiled widely and shook his head, thankful that his speech had worked.

* * *

Draco was changing Oliver's diaper when Hermione's otter patronus appeared and announced that Harry would be joining them for dinner. He stood the 6 month old up on the table and sighed.

"You're going to keep me calm tonight, right Oliver? Can't have Mummy mad at me for being mean to Saint Potter . . . even though he is annoyingly full of himself."

Oliver giggled and patted his father's face. "I am not full of myself!" Draco argued, mocking offense. Oliver giggled even more, continuing to pat his fathers face and beginning to squirm on the changing table.

"Yeah yeah, okay," Draco said, picking up his son and carrying him out of the room. It was just around 5pm, meaning not only was it time for Oliver's dinner but Hermione would be home any minute now to feed him. When she had stopped breastfeeding earlier that month, she had insisted on being home to feed him dinner. Draco had reminded her that it wasn't necessary; Oliver was used to being bottle fed by Draco when Hermione was at work, but she insisted.

On his way down the stairs, Draco called to his other children and as he made his way into the living room, he heard the pitter-patter of small feet coming toward him from various rooms in the house.

"Daddy, can I give Verona some treats?" Miranda asked, the first one into the room, their Great Horned Owl Verona on her shoulder.

"Not too many," he said, and accoied the jar of owl treats from the kitchen while Miranda sat down on the couch. Caelum and Carina came jauntily into the living room next and eventually — with some coaxing from Draco — settled down next to Miranda and the bird.

"What's going on?" Caelum asked.

Bouncing the baby on his lap, Draco turned to address his other children. "Cammie, Carina, do you remember that man who was with Mommy at the park earlier this week?" When they nodded, he continued. "Well that man is coming over to dinner tonight and I expect you all to be on your best behavior."

"Is he nice?" Miranda asked, always inquisitive. Draco looked at her, puzzled.

"Why would we be having someone to dinner who isn't nice?" He responded seriously, trying his absolute hardest not to show his true feelings toward his childhood nemesis.

"Because you don't look happy," Miranda explained, just as seriously. Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. That girl knew him well, he thought proudly.

"Mr. Potter and I didn't get along when we were younger, but he was your mum's very good friend, so we're all going to be on our best behavior . . . including me." His children looked surprised when he confessed that he, too, would have to behave, but they all quickly agreed after that.

By the time the fireplace glowed the telltale green of Hermione's arrival, Draco had put the children to work setting the table and was supervising at a distance from the kitchen. From where he was fixing Oliver's meal, Draco could hear the first and then second whoosh of the fireplace, followed by the chatter of two adults walking through the house.

Picking up Oliver once again, Draco moved into the dining room in time to see Hermione and Harry walking in from the living room.

Harry took one look at the three children setting the table and laughed. "Let me guess, Hermione didn't allow house elves, so you put your kids to work?"

If he were being completely honest, Draco would admit that Harry probably meant it as a lighthearted jab. He would also admit that if Miranda and Hermione hadn't immediately interceded, Draco probably would have said something he'd regret.

With her characteristic spunk, Miranda looked Harry squarely in the face and assured him that, "Mummy does SO allow house elves. We have Louis and Flora and we love them!"

At the same time, Hermione promptly informed Harry that, "Children are just as responsible for the upkeep of their home as the elves we employ to help, and should be expected to complete developmentally appropriate tasks."

Draco hid his smile by lifting Oliver and passing him into Hermione's outstretched arms. He hated when she adopted that slightly snobby bookworm tone with him, but absolutely loved seeing it used against Harry. The problem was, he didn't want Hermione to see how much he loved it.

After instructing the kids to go wash their hands, Draco nodded in greeting to Harry and went to get Oliver's food from the kitchen. He still listened in, though, as Hermione relaxed her tone and elaborated on her response.

"Miranda had some issues with accidental magic when the twins were born," Draco could hear her saying, "The teachers at her preschool suggested giving her some specific jobs to do while at home. It worked wonders, so we've just kept it up."

There was some silence, and then Draco heard Harry apologizing. "I didn't mean — I thought it would be funny because of SPEW."

Draco quietly walked back into the dining room carrying a plastic bowl of pureed sweet potato. Hermione was sitting in her usual seat at the head of the square table, Oliver's high chair pulled up next to her. The baby was making his hunger known by banging his small fists on the tray top, but Hermione was watching Harry.

"I know," Hermione said, not bothering to correct Harry's mispronunciation of her failed elf rights organization. She took the bowl from Draco and began feeding Oliver.

Draco stood beside her, feeling a bit awkward as he stared at the other man.

Finally, Harry offered to help with whatever needed doing, which broke some of the tension, and he and Draco silently transferred the food from the kitchen tot he table.

Dinner itself was relatively uneventful, for which Draco was thankful. He could tell Hermione was nervous, though she hid it extremely well.

When Hermione apologized for the "kid friendly menu," Harry waved it off, explaining that he had two children (3 and 1) and was therefore used to it. Miranda, precocious to a fault, pestered Harry with questions about his family, his job, and his home in England. Draco was impressed that Harry was able to divide his attention equally between the children and Hermione, and chalked it up to experience (apparently there were many young children on the Weasley side).

Everything was going unexpectedly well, actually. At least, until Harry asked:

"So when will you move back to England?"

Miranda's fork clattered to the floor. Caelum and Carina looked at each other in confusion. Oliver made some extremely screechy noises and threw a glob of sweet potato onto the table. To Draco's right, Hermione started coughing violently.

Hermione finally got her breathing under control and snapped at Miranda to be quiet; Draco hadn't even realized she was talking.

"But —" Miranda argued.

"We're not moving, Miranda," Hermione assured the girl who, Draco finally realized, had been loudly protesting a potential move. "Finish your food."

Draco grew more uncomfortable as Harry began to speak again. "Hermione, I think you should at least consider —"

"We are not discussing this, Harry," she responded in the exact same tone usually reserved for her children, effectively stopping the conversation in its tracks.

They finished their meal in relative silence — Oliver's babbling and the twins' chatter couldn't really be counted. Draco, hating the tension that had resurfaced, felt slightly vindicated knowing that his daughter felt the same way about what had just happened.

Finally, the meal came to an official end. Draco breathed a sigh of relief as he escaped into the kitchen, leaving Harry and Hermione in the dining room alone. The children had been excused from the table to go play and he had offered to deal with the dishes. The adults hadn't said a word to each other since that uncomfortable exchange and Draco, trying desperately to be the bigger man, felt an intense need to be anywhere but in that room.

"It's not up for discussion, Harry," Hermione said tersely, the sounds of a continued conversation drifting through to the kitchen. Draco sighed. "And even if it were up for discussion, you don't get to have a say," she added. Draco smiled.

"Hermione, please just consider it?" Harry was begging. "We miss you."

Draco thought perhaps they had grown too quiet for him to hear from the kitchen, but when Hermione spoke again, he realized they had simply been sitting in silence.

"I think you should leave now," Hermione announced firmly.

* * *

Back in his hotel room, Harry called Ginny from the mirror.

"I screwed up, Gin," he explained sadly after telling her about the dinner. "I hate to be right about this, but I was right. She's not coming back."

Ginny scoffed, rolling over tiredly in their bed. It was, after all, quite late in England.

"Go to sleep, Harry," she told him through a yawn. "I have a plan."


	7. Chapter 7

**April 2008**

 **One month later**

Harry was all set to leave for Washington DC again that evening. His bags were packed, his speech (sent over a few weeks ago from the D.I.C.'s PR team) was edited and sent back, and his family was finally situated. Molly had moved into their home yesterday to help full-time while Harry was gone. Ginny, pregnant with child number three and seemingly growing rounder and more tired by the day, had been reluctant at first (as she had been when pregnant with Albus too), but would be more than grateful once Harry actually left. All was planned and prepared except one thing.

"Mr. Potter?" Harry looked up from his desk at the Ministry and saw his secretary poking her head in. "The Minister needs to see you before you go."

He nodded and thanked the woman, a curse breaker turned bureaucrat who reminded him a bit of of Mrs. Weasley. Wondering what Kingsley needed, having just seen the man two hours ago for their weekly lunch, Harry reached a stopping point in his work and left to go find his boss and friend.

"Hello Harry," the multi-term minister said as a greeting when Harry entered his office, closing the door behind him.

"Kingsley," Harry responded, a clear question in his voice.

"They've approved your proposal," Kingsley stated clearly in that deep calm voice, the smile on his face the only thing betraying his pleasure. Harry's eyes immediately grew wide.

"That's great!" he let out, moving closer to the older man's desk.

Kingsley nodded, and continued to speak, his smile somewhat fading. "They approved it on one condition . . ."

Harry took a deep breath, already knowing what that condition would be, having heard many members of the Wizenagamot discussing it in hushed tones this past week.

"No problem," he said, sounding far more confident than he actually felt.

Kingsley raised an eyebrow. "No problem?" he repeated, clearly doubting Harry's show of confidence.

"No problem," Harry repeated, his heart rate increasing. "Make the offer. It's too good to pass up."

This time a broad smile passed over Kingsley's tired face. "I hope you're right," the man told Harry, leaning back in his chair. "I sent the letter this morning."

Now Harry's heart really raced, thinking about the possibilities. It took him a few moments to realize what sending the letter in the morning — before the Wizenagamot had even voted — truly meant. He felt a knot forming in his upper chest and blinked a few times rapidly when he realized. Kingsley smiled warmly at him again.

"It was a brilliant proposal. One I'm embarrassed we didn't make sooner," the man admitted. "This will help bring us into the 21st century . . . finally . . . and right now, we really need that. You should be proud." Harry felt the warmth radiate through his body. Over the years, as he had moved up the ranks of government, critics had suggested that his success was due to his name, not his abilities. It was comforting, as always in moments like this, to know that it wasn't just his name.

"I can't take all the credit," he said rather humbly, though. "It was really Ginny's idea."

"Still," Kingsley said, walking over to give Harry a pat on the back, "I know how hard it's been for you. You should be proud."

Harry nodded slowly, accepting the praise as Kingsley ushered him toward the door. He was proud. Nervous and excited more than anything else but still at least a little bit proud.

* * *

To say Hermione was pleased with herself as she picked off of Draco's plate at breakfast would be an understatement. In the span of one month, she had seen to it that the training program was completely ready for its "grand opening" (so to speak). She had also orchestrated a phenomenal birthday party for the twins, and had even maintained a cordial one-phone-call-a-week working relationship with Harry. They never discussed her returning to England — she was extremely careful to avoid that subject — and they focused entirely on work. But talking at all, she figured, was progress considering the way things had ended a month ago.

Hermione looked around the dining room and smiled. Carina and Caelum were finishing their breakfast (Miranda had already finished and run off to get ready for school). Oliver was lying on a play-mat in the corner, entertained by some charm Flora was casting on a mobile. And Draco was currently talking to Louis about his plans for the day. Though Draco could run his potions business from home, he had gotten involved with some clinical trials at local hospitals over the years and would go into their labs every now and then. Today was one of those days, so Louis and Flora would be at home with Oliver while Draco and Hermione were out.

"Can I have a playdate with Emily today?" Carina asked, breaking Hermione out of her contented trance. Before Hermione could answer, Caelum chipped in, asking if he could have a playdate too, with Emily's brother.

Hermione took a swig of Draco's orange juice and checked her watch. "I'll call their mum while you're at school to see if it's okay."

"And if it is, their Nanny will pick us up too?" Carina double checked. Emily and her older brother Thomas were good friends of Carina and Caelum's, having gone to the same preschool. It helped that Emily and Thomas were halfblooded; their father was a wizard.

Hermione nodded. "If it is, their Nanny will pick you up too. If not, Miss Stephanie will take you to Flora. Now hurry up and get your things. I'm dropping you off this morning, so we're leaving in five minutes."

Normally, Draco would pick the kids up from preschool. But there were enough magical children in attendance that the school had devised a system for keeping house elves out of sight from muggle eyes. It made everything so much easier on days like today.

Miranda came downstairs then, backpack bulging and eyes far too innocent looking.

Hermione nudged Draco, who banished his now empty dishes to the kitchen and inhaled deeply.

"Put Verona back, Miranda," he told the girl sternly.

Miranda plastered on a large smile of fake innocence and claimed not to know what her father was talking about.

Hermione noticed Draco's fury increasing. They had been through this two times in the last month — the two times it had been Miranda's turn for show. Of course, she was also pushing Draco's blood pressure through the roof too.

"Draco," Hermione said clearly and calmly, pointedly not looking at her daughter. "I was thinking about our summer vacation plans."

Her husband looked at her as if she had grown a second head, but after a very pointed look, he let her continue. "Since Miranda refuses to follow safety rules like not bringing animals for show and tell, she'll have to stay home. Do you agree?"

Her husband smiled, likely surprised (as he often was when she got like this) at how very Slytherin her parenting strategies could be.

"I agree wholeheartedly," he responded, visibly more calm.

"We've told her twice now," Hermione continued, still not looking at her daughter. "And she knows that we have a three-strikes-and-you're-out rule in this family. So if we have to tell her a third time, then there has to be a consequence. And since this indiscretion is particularly problematic; it's a matter of safety . . ."

Draco's thoughts and Hermione's now on the exact same page. "Like I said, I agree. Having to stay home would be the natural consequence. After all, if you refuse to follow safety rules at home and in school, you can't be trusted to follow them on vacation." Draco, unlike Hermione, was looking directly at their daughter now.

After a few beats of silence, Miranda claimed to have forgotten something upstairs and retreated to her room.

"We're leaving in two minutes, Miranda!" Hermione hollered at the girl's retreating figure, once again feeling quite pleased with herself.

She and Draco chuckled lightly and got up from the table. With a quick kiss goodbye, Draco left to go into the lab and Hermione accioed her bag from their home office.

Just as she was replacing final copies of the ceremony's schedule, a large owl appeared at the window. Confused, she let it in quickly, not wanting any muggle neighbors to see. In its beak was a thick envelope with "Transcontinental" stamped on the front, above her name and address.

Ever the multi-tasker, Hermione gave a 60 second warning to her children (after wandlessly charming her voice to echo throughout the house) and opened the envelope to the sound of six little feet coming down the stairs.

In the last few moments before they arrived, she quickly scanned the letter, eyebrows furrowing in confusion and a bit of anger the more she read. She reached the signature just as the three kids came into the living room.

Not having the time to fully react, and determined to keep a composed face in front of her children, Hermione stuffed the letter back into the envelope and buried the whole thing in her bag before ushering her kids out the door and into the car. When it was just Miranda or just the twins, she would usually apparate, but with all three it just didn't make sense. That and, in her current state of mind, apparating probably wasn't entirely safe.

"Front desk says Harry's on his way up," Matthew announced, poking his head into Hermione's office later that morning. Hermione was sitting at her desk staring at the letter from the morning and didn't respond.

"Jeanie! You ok?" Matthew asked, stepping into the office more fully. Registering the nickname, Hermione's attention jumped to her boss and she assured him that she was ok.

"Will you send him in when he gets here?" she asked. It took a few more reassurances that she was okay, but Matthew did leave her office and she had a few more moments to continue staring at the letter. To say she was conflicted would be an understatement of epic proportions.

A knock on the door brought her out of her contemplation a second time and she called to whomever it was to enter rather distractedly. When she noticed raven hair and glasses, though, she felt confusion and anger well up inside her almost instantly.

"Hermione!" Harry greeted happily, "It's good to see you again."

Hermione nodded, not matching his warmth in the slightest.

"Are you alright?" he asked in what Hermione could only assume was an attempt at sounding friendly but, frankly, just sounded odd. She gave him a look that plainly indicated her distaste.

"No, Harry," she said bitingly. "I'm not alright."

He sat down across from her and gave her a look of genuine sympathy. "What's going on?"

Suddenly Hermione wasn't sure what to say. Her instincts had told her that Harry was involved somehow, but now she was second guessing herself. On the one hand, she reasoned, he had been completely naive and disrespectful the last time they spoke personally. But on the other hand, he was her friend. Of course, whether or not Harry was involved didn't really change matters . . . unless it was all fake. _But why would it be fake?_ she asked herself.

"Hermione," Harry called gently, placing his hand on hers. "You can talk to me."

In that moment, Hermione heard Draco's voice in her head asking her what he would do in this kind of situation, and Hermione pulled her hand away.

"I got a letter this morning," she stated simply, carefully watching Harry for any indication of his involvement or awareness, "from your Minster of Magic." If he was involved, she thought, there would be some indication.

"And?" He asked, not betraying anything either way (much to Hermione's frustration).

She took a deep breath and looked away for a moment. She had to make a decision about what to say, and she had no idea what his involvement may have been. Should she tell him what the letter said? She hadn't even talked to her own husband about it! Or did he already know? Finally, Hermione decided to just be herself and ask point blank: "Do you know anything about it?"

The few seconds between her question and his answer were almost painful. Something was telling her that this could be it: the key to whether or not Harry could actually be her friend again.

Across from her, the man took a deep breath in. "Yes, I do," he said. "Kingsley told me he sent it before I flew out yesterday."

Still, unhelpful, she thought. A vague answer didn't do much of anything.

"And?" she asked, digging for more from him.

"And . . ." Harry leaned forward, rubbing his hands against the tops of his thighs before looking up at her. "The Ministry of Magic is a bloody joke. It governs, but it might as well be governing in the 18th century."

Hermione was surprised at the frustration in his voice. She knew the Ministry was a mess during the war, but figured it couldn't be too bad under Kingsley. As Harry continued, though, his tone changed. Hermione noticed with trepidation that he was pausing more, as if leading up to a confession that she might not like.

"When I got back last month . . . I made some suggestions for new departments. . . . Departments that might help bring the Ministry into the 21st century. Better integration of muggle technologies, better cooperation, etcetera. . . . And I mentioned to some people that . . . your department . . . here . . . was good inspiration." Hermione raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by the speed at which he was nearing (or not nearing) his point.

"And I mentioned you," he finished, more confidently than the rest. Hermione sat back and crossed her arms. _So he was involved,_ she thought, feeling betrayed.

"I know what it looks like," he added, "and I do want you back. I miss you, Hermione; we all miss you. But this is about more than that. It's about the fact that our government — and I do mean _our_ — is an outdated, ineffective mess." He paused, checking to make sure Hermione was still listening. She was; she was glaring at him, but she was listening.

"I think it's great that you've made a life for yourself. I'm upset and hurt that I didn't get to be a part of it . . . but it's a great life. You're successful, you seem happy. That's great, Hermione, really. But at the end of the day, what does it mean? What difference are you making? If you came back, you could literally reshape an entire government. You."

Hermione's anger melted away like an ice cream cone on a hot summer day. She had been ready to shout, to lecture Harry about friendship and why she didn't feel respected. She wanted to call him out on his manipulation. But she found that she couldn't. All she could say, uncrossing her arms, was "Harry . . ."

"I fully admit this started as a way to get you to move back," he said, leaning toward her so that his torso was practically on top of her desk. "But . . . we fought a war together, Hermione. We fought a war so that we could make our worlds — muggle and magical — a better place. Voldemort might be gone, but we're not done fighting. And we need you. You're Hermione Granger! We can't do it without you."

"Harry . . . I . . ." Hermione cut off, shaking her head back and forth slowly and looking down at her lap. When words continued to fail her, she breathed a shaky breath out and continued shaking her head.

"Just think about it, okay?" Harry asked, leaning backward in his chair and then standing up. "The news isn't public yet, so . . . " Harry shrugged and turned to leave. "Anyways your PR team wanted to see me. I'll see you downstairs in five?"

Hermione looked up at him, still at a loss for words, and nodded. She would have to compose herself before heading downstairs. This Ministry-reshaping news might not have been public yet in the UK, but here in the US, news of Harry's training program was purposefully in the spotlight. The "grand opening" ceremony was set to begin in thirty minutes and the press was having a field day. Members of Hermione's department would be traveling over together in five minutes and if she didn't get a hold of her thoughts, there would likely be consequences, seeing as Hermione was coordinating the event.

As she packed up what she needed and conjured a mirror to check her appearance, she couldn't help but let her thoughts drift. A chance to reshape the Ministry of Magic and make it more effective, maybe even more fair. A chance to be the Head of a Department! A small one, sure. Nothing compared to the DIC. But maybe one day . . .?

She put the mirror away, still letting her thoughts drift. A picture of her family at Oliver's birth snagged her attention and all the exciting thoughts were immediately squashed. Her mind refocused on the present; on the job she currently had an loved; on the family and network of friends that tied her to DC, and on the hard truth that job fantasies were never even close to the real deal.

Steeling herself to deal with the press, Hermione smoothed out her suit, picked up her materials, and left her office. Any and all thoughts of the job offer were shoved forcibly out of her conscious mind, pinned and pushed into a tiny little section of her subconscious only to be brought out later in the day when she wasn't required to focus on anything else. This day was about the past month's worth of work. This day was about that pleasant sense of accomplishment — the one she'd felt so happily not a few hours ago at breakfast.

 _Thinking about the job offer will just have to wait until tonight,_ Hermione told herself, momentarily picturing the conversation she'd have with Draco after dinner. She shook her head. Everything had been much simpler before this project started and Harry showed up. At least after the ceremony, her involvement on the project and with Harry would be minimal.

 _Could be minimal_ , a small voice from her subconscious corrected. _Could be._

* * *

In his hotel room later that night, Harry recounted the events of the day via mirror to Ginny. He told her about Secretary Branford and meeting the Magical President. He summarized the speeches each of them gave and mentioned the various reporters that had taken tons of pictures. He even described in detail the foods he had eaten over the course of the celebratory events, so intense was his excitement.

For some reason he couldn't identify in his present state, though, Ginny kept asking questions he found odd and unnecessary. She asked, for example, which publications had been present at the various events.

When she started to ask about Hermione, Harry's excitement waned a bit.

"She got the offer," he said vaguely.

"So the plan worked?!" Ginny asked boisterously.

Harry paused and looked away for a moment. "I'm not sure, Gin. She didn't exactly seem thrilled. I told her to think about it."

Ginny scoffed. "Are you kidding? That offer is way too good to pass up!"

Harry didn't want to voice his worries. Ginny got some particularly crazy ideas when she was pregnant and got particularly upset when he acted like a nay-sayer. The thing is, a lot of her ideas actually turned out to be right or successful despite Harry's misgivings. So this time, despite his misgivings, he decided to just run with it and hope for the best.

"That's what I told Kingsley," he responded, as opposed to saying something negative. He then immediately tried switching the conversation over to something less Hermione-related.

The rest of their conversation was lighthearted and focused on her day with Molly and the kids. Ginny complained every now and then, but mostly enjoyed being pregnant. It probably helped that she had potions and spells to ease many of the issues muggle women frequently complained about. She was mostly just tired. Two children three and under would do that to anyone — pregnant or not — and Harry was thankful that Molly was there to help so frequently.

It was only when they said their goodnights and Harry crawled under the covers that he allowed himself one hopeful thought: the plan might, in fact, have worked.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N - I am so sorry that it's taken so long for me to update this story. I don't really have a reason except that I got stuck in a really bad mental place for a while there and was neither inspired nor able to find it in me to write. Knock on wood that I'm cured now and, without further ado, here's chapter 8! It picks up exactly where chapter 7 left off, so if you forgot some parts of this story, you may want to go back and re-read/skim through previous chapters to remind yourself of those details.

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

The next morning found Draco and Hermione cuddling in bed, reading the weekend edition of _Metro Magic_ , a widely-read newspaper both in the DC area's magical community and the American magical community at large.

Hermione had been thrilled when she'd seen the front page. Well, she had been thrilled once she'd actually processed it. Always more of a morning person, even on weekends, Draco had bounded back into their bedroom a few minutes ago, waving the paper in Hermione's face and peppering her with kisses. She'd barely woken up, so it took a moment to realize what she was being shown. But once it registered, a wave of that familiar sense of accomplishment washed over her.

 **New Auror Training Initiative Promises Safety, Stimulus, Support**

By Callia Jameson

Yesterday afternoon, President Adams made good on one of her core campaign promises to revitalize both the foreign and domestic arms of the Magical Department of Defense. After months of international cooperation spearheaded by the Department of Intergovernmental Communication, the M.D.O.D. officially launched their new Auror training program with the Grand Opening of a state-of-the-art flagship institution located just outside of Washington, DC.

"I was not the first to acknowledge that our training programs need work," Adams reminded attendees in her speech at the ribbon-cutting event, but where past administrations have failed to act, the opening of the institution has been widely received as a step in the right direction.

The New Auror Training Program, or NAT as it is known throughout the M.D.O.D., will make extensive use of modernized muggle-magic technology integration for simulations, tailor training modules to local and federal jurisdictions, and include highly selective Junior Auror summer programs for secondary and university students with advanced credentials. However, the core - and most controversial element - of the program stems from it's reliance on international communication and cooperation: in an effort to improve the M.D.O.D.'s foreign operations, new Aurors will complete joint training exercises with teams from other nations at least twice as part of their initial training while active duty Aurors will be required to re-certify once every three years.

The program, originally launched in the United Kingdom following the defeat of the "Dark Lord" Voldemort, has been successful at reforming justice departments internationally and has been touted as a crucial step toward preventing future crises both domestically and internationally.

Mr. Harry Potter, the head of the UK's Department of Magical Law Enforcement, explained his inspiration for the international arm of the program and its inception: _"The idea for the program stemmed from the simple fact that, had we been able to work more extensively with other nations both at the first sign of trouble and throughout our war effort, a great tragedy could have been prevented."_ He was referring, of course, to Voldemort's rise to power.

D.I.C. Secretary Branford and Deputy Secretary Malfoy were also among the officials who spoke at the event . . . _(article continues on page 4)._

Smiling, Hermione read the article a second time before looking back at Draco, a huge smile gracing both their features. She was pleased with the way it covered the facts, and even more pleased that she didn't hate the accompanying picture: a loop of the Secretary of Magical Defense cutting the ceremonial ribbon, flanked by President Adams, Matt, Harry, and herself.

"Potter did something right, huh?" Draco asked, smirking at her as he climbed back under the covers.

Hermione felt something sharp puncture the happy feeling inside and her mind recalled the "intercontinental" envelope still stashed in the bottom of her work bag.

She nodded. Draco raised an eyebrow.

She sighed. Draco raised the other eyebrow.

"Talk."

She didn't talk. Instead, Hermione climbed slowly out of their bed and walked over to the armchair where she'd flung her bag last night.

She could feel Draco's curiosity and impatience growing as she rummaged through the bag. After what probably felt like ages to Draco but only seconds to her, Hermione shuffled back to bed, envelope in hand.

"Mya?"

She responded by passing the envelope to her husband. His eyes narrowed as he opened the letter and saw the Ministry of Magic letterhead.

"It came yesterday morning," she explained, trying to keep her voice even while he read.

"This is Potter's doing?" Draco finally asked, his voice also scarily nonchalant.

Hermione nodded. "Apparently he was impressed by the way our government runs here and made some comments to Kingsley."

Draco was silent, re-reading the letter she'd already committed to memory. Finally he turned back to her.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"What are you thinking?"

Hermione sighed and leaned into her husband for comfort. She could feel his tension, but he pulled her close nonetheless.

She looked into his eyes and confessed, "I'm thinking I love you and I love our life and I don't want any of it to change."

Draco's body relaxed somewhat and he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. He understood.

"But it's an incredible opportunity," he finished for her. "One you don't want to regret passing up."

Hermione hated this. She hated the obvious pain flickering in his eyes and that fact that, as relaxed as he pretended to be, she could feel his arms tightening around her, bracing for trouble. She hated that she had even considered the offer and that a part of her felt bad about turning it down.

"It _is_ an incredible opportunity. One I would have jumped at 10 years ago," she admitted. "But I am not the same person I was 10 years ago and my priorities are different now."

Still pensive and pained, Draco agreed. They had both changed a lot.

"I mean," Hermione continued trepidatiously, attempting to lighten the mood, "I'm not even Hermione Granger anymore!"

That did it. Draco laughed heartily. With a quick motion, he flipped around to hover above her, their noses practically touching.

"You most definitely are _not,_ " he concurred, eyes flashing wickedly at the memory of this particular inside joke.

 **********FLASHBACK**********

 **May 2002**

It was a perfect day in mid-May as Draco walked across campus toward the apartment he unofficially shared with Hermione. Technically, he shared it with his roommate Andrew, but nowadays Hermione spent so much of her time there it had basically become hers as well. Not that Draco minded!

He loved having her there during the days almost as much as he loved having her there at night though not quite as much as he loved having her there in the mornings. Draco chuckled to himself as he thought about the first time she'd spent the night with him and how adorable she'd been the next morning.

Before he got to know her, he would have never guessed how much Hermione Granger hated mornings. Then again, before he got to know her, if someone had told him how he'd come to find out that little fact, he'd have laughed in their faces. Now he cherished every morning he got to seduce her grumpy self with lots of kisses and the promise of breakfast.

That morning had been a bit different. He'd practically shoved her into the shower sans breakfast (though not sans kisses) and left to run an errand.

Draco checked his watch. Almost 9am.

The errand had taken a bit longer than expected, but he had purposefully left some time in the schedule just in case. He'd be back at their building in a matter of seconds and he hoped Hermione would be ready.

Draco couldn't help but whistle as he entered the building and climbed lightly up the stairs to their third floor apartment. He never took the elevator if he could help it and, despite the heat of the late-spring sun, he never broke a sweat thanks to a well timed cooling charm. It definitely wouldn't do to have sweat stains on a day like today.

Today was their graduation. Next week, they'd be moving into an apartment in DC and, the week after that, Hermione would transition from Intern to Policy Research Assistant at the Magical Department of Intergovernmental Communication while he would start part time work at a local potions lab. This was going to be a good day and, assuming everything went according to plan, an even better week.

As he opened the main door, he called out to let Hermione know he was back. After hiding the fruits of his errand in the coat-closet, he started rummaging in the fridge for a pre-breakfast snack.

"Draco?" Hermione called. He paused. Her voice sounded odd, but he couldn't place why. Leaving the snack search for later, he closed the refrigerator door and ventured toward their bedroom.

 _Fucking hell_ , his mind practically screamed when he saw her.

She was standing there, naked but for her underwear, holding two dresses out toward him. His eyes went wide; his heartbeat increased; his blood went straight down to his crotch and before he could stop himself, he had thrown pushed the dresses aside and wrapped her in his arms.

"Why are you doing this to me, witch?" He groaned into her neck between kisses. She laughed. Gods he loved that laugh.

"I can't choose," she confessed breathily, and he rolled his eyes.

"You chose yesterday," Draco reminded her, his hands roaming further down.

She laughed again, swatting away the hand that was trying to peel off her underwear and explained that she no longer liked the one she picked out yesterday.

Draco groaned and took a step back. "Why not?"

That's when it happened. She made that face. The one that meant she was hiding something. Her hesitation to answer only confirmed his suspicions. Stepping away from her, he folded his arms against his chest.

"It's just not right for the occasion," she sighed, sounding a lot more like someone going to a funeral than to her college graduation. Something was wrong.

"And why is that," he asked, trying not to show his mounting concern.

She hesitated again, chewing her bottom lip in that infuriatingly cute way she did when she was nervous. When she still hadn't responded after a significant pause, he walked as patiently as possible to the bed and then said, "Out with it, Mya."

Now her leg was trembling slightly.

 _What the hell did she need to say that was so bloody difficult? h_ e thought, his concern morphing into full blown stress. Though he tried not to show it, he knew she could tell and that it wasn't helping.

Finally, she said, "I don't want to be Hermione Granger anymore."

Draco felt like all the breath had been suddenly and forcibly removed from his lungs. No. She couldn't mean - she wouldn't.

"You're leaving me?" He practically squeaked out. Had the world suddenly gone blurry or was that just him? He heard Hermione gasp but didn't quite register what she said next. All he could think about was the last time she'd decided she didn't want to be Hermione Granger anymore. That time, she'd ended up halfway around the world, introducing herself as Jean at a muggle university in the states! Sure that had worked out well for him, but not so well for Potter and Weasley. Fuck! Was he going to be her next Weasley? Is that all this was for her?

So lost was he in his thoughts that he didn't even notice Hermione kneeling in front of him, taking his hands in hers, and gently calling his name.

"Draco!" She called again, this time loud enough to break him out of the trance.

He looked up - or, rather, slightly down - and into her chocolate brown eyes. They were filled with love and amusement, which confused him. If she was leaving him, shouldn't she be upset or at least apologetic.

"Draco, you goof," she laughed. He smiled despite himself. He loved her laugh. "I'm not leaving you. I just - I made a decision. And it scares me a little bit, but it also makes me really excited, so even though it might scare you, I wanted you to know."

Now Draco was even more confused. "What decision?" he asked cautiously.

Hermione smiled broadly.

"It doesn't have to be anytime soon, but I decided that eventually," she paused and took a huge breath, momentarily distracting Draco since the action made her chest rise somewhat erotically, "well more soonish than eventually, I want to stop being Hermione Granger and start being Hermione Malfoy."

This time, when Draco's breath disappeared, it didn't hurt at all. He was fairly certain, in fact, that someone had just used Wingardium Leviosa because he was definitely floating.

"You mean it?" He asked hopefully, thinking excitedly about the little box he had oh-so-conveniently picked up from the jeweler just that morning.

"Thank god!" He practically shouted and without much actual thinking, ran into the living room, heading straight for the closet. He heard Hermione's confused "what are you doing, weirdo?" follow him but he was too excited to care. Sure, he'd intended to wait until next week. He'd even planned a whole romantic candlelit meal for their first night in the new apartment! But now, after that heart attack she'd just given him, he couldn't wait a moment longer.

In seconds, he was back in their bedroom, pointing at the spot on the bed he'd just vacated.

"Sit," he commanded. With nothing but a raised eyebrow in response, Hermione complied.

"I had a whole thing planned," he explained, aware that he was practically bouncing on his toes, "I was going to you cook dinner in the new place and make a whole speech and do a whole thing, but honestly, I don't think I could make it through today now that you've basically said yes."

Hermione laughed, her head tilted back, and he felt his heart practically burst. Draco had never felt this way before and he found, rather than be afraid of the emotions, he loved them.

"Are you proposing?" Hermione asked through the laugher, tears of joy shining in the crevices of her eyes. He nodded, and realized with some surprise that his own eyes had started to mist up.

"Aren't you supposed to get down on one knee?" She teased. Draco felt the telltale flush of embarrassment creep into his pale cheeks. This is why he planned things out, he reminded himself before quickly falling to his knee and taking Hermione's hand in his.

"Hermione Jean Granger," he said, trying to convey all of his love in just one sentence. "Will you marry me?"

And when she responded, he heard all of her love in her voice.

"I will."

Suffice to say, they were a bit late to breakfast, but as they sat in the restaurant with her parents (who were thrilled with the news, of course), he couldn't help but tease her for scaring him half to death with her phrasing.

"So, Mya," he whispered, "How soon should we plan to change your name?"

 **********END FLASHBACK**********

* * *

Growling goofily, Draco smushed his face into her neck and began loudly kissing the fleshy point beneath her ear. She laughed. Gods how he still loved that laugh.

Pushing himself back up, Draco looked directly into his wife's eyes. He kissed her lightly on the forehead, then lightly on her nose, and finally lightly on her lips. Then he rolled back over onto his back, pulling her close to his side and staring somewhat despondently at the ceiling.

"What happens if you say no?" he asked, not afraid of the answer but afraid that it might not be an honest one.

"Nothing," Hermione said casually, though he could hear a note of pain hiding beneath her words.

Draco sighed.

"You won't resent me?"

He felt Hermione shuffle a bit and turned his head to look her in the eyes.

"Why would I resent you?" She asked genuinely confused. When he didn't respond, she continued, "You've given me everything I could possibly want. I love you so much."

Draco smiled and kissed her again. "I love you too, but I don't want you to wake up one day and wish you'd taken the job. If it weren't for me, you'd have already accepted."

Draco realized as soon as he said it that it was probably the wrong thing to say. Oops. Hermione's brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed in the kind of anger she only ever directed at him when he said something she deemed unacceptably self-deprecating.

"Draco Malfoy, you are the reason I am capable of holding a wand let alone getting offers to work for the Ministry of Magic," she reminded him, her voice petrifying his innards. He grimaced. She was right, of course, but it was too late to take what he said back.

Instead, he said something he hoped would suffice: "And you're the only reason I didn't flunk out of college and throw myself anchor-first into the Chesapeake Bay."

Hermione raised an eyebrow and Draco waited, hoping his quasi-joke worked to calm her down.

"Yeah yeah, okay" she gave in. _Saved_ , he thought with a sigh of relief. The only times Hermione ever had ever been truly furious with him was when he'd lost Miranda in a grocery store and when he'd dug himself into a self-deprecating hole for two days in their junior year.

"Ok but seriously, Mya" Draco continued. He looked up at the ceiling, hoping he wasn't able to completely destroy the life he had come to cherish. "As much as I hate the thought of moving back to London, if there's any part of you that wants this job . . ."

He couldn't finish the sentence. Their life here was practically perfect. He was happier here than he had ever been in his entire pre-Hermione life. But it was for that same reason that he would do just about anything to give her what she wanted.

A sudden, piercing cry broke through the baby monitor on the bedside table. Draco felt Hermione's lips brush his cheek and sighed at the familiarity of it all.

"I'll think about it," she said softly.

Draco felt the bed dip as she left the room to tend to the now-awake Oliver and realized, with a pang, that she had only confirmed what he had already decided. Draco needed her and he needed their family. Everything else, he could find a way to make do without.

* * *

A/N - I hope you liked it, but whether or not you did, I look forward to reviews!


	9. Chapter 9

A/N - As an apology for not updating in a year and a half, here's two chapters in one day! This one is really short and is mostly filler, but it introduces a character we haven't seen yet in the story and get's us to where we need to be next. Hope you like it. Read and review, please!

* * *

 **June 2009**

 **Two months later**

Harry paced anxiously in front of his fireplace, waiting for Ron to floo in. Behind him, from on the couch, he heard Ginny sigh. A quick glance at her revealed that she wasn't sighing at him but rather at the baby's incessant kicking. She was only a few weeks away from her due date now and could never quite get comfortable. Deciding it was nothing serious, Harry went back to pacing.

"He'll get here when he gets here, Harry," Ginny finally called, sounding slightly exasperated.

Harry paused and looked at his wife.

She was right, obviously. Ron had said he'd floo over after stopping to say hi to everyone at at the Burrow and no amount of pacing would make his best-friend-turned-brother-in-law appear any sooner.

"He's not going to like this," Harry moaned, allowing himself to fall back onto the couch and burying his head in his hands. Within seconds, Ginny's hand started rubbing circles on his back.

"He'll be fine, Harry," Ginny assured him, the double meaning extremely evident in her tone: if Ron wasn't fine on his own, Ginny would make him be fine.

Harry groaned again.

The couple waited silently on the couch for the next five minutes. Harry was sure this was about to blow up in his face.

For the past few months, he'd been keeping the news of Hermione from Ron. It was relatively easy at first. When he didn't immediately call Ron after that day at the park, the immediate need to tell all had subsided. He and Ginny had planned to tell Ron in person, but when Harry returned, Ron had been out of town on business for the joke shop. Then, both Harry and Ginny had kept their mouths shut at Molly and Arthur's weekly Sunday lunch and it had simply spiraled from there. The more time passed, the harder it became to reveal the news but there was no logical reason to keep quiet. Even now, Harry couldn't quite put a finger on why they'd kept Hermione's life a secret, but whatever the reason, he was now sure it was going to bite him in the arse.

There was no more hiding it. He had to tell Ron and he had to do it now.

After what felt like an entire lifetime in Harry's overwhelmed state, the fireplace finally glowed green. A brief _whoosh_ sounded and Ron Weasley stepped out into their living room.

"Merlin Gin - you're enormous!" He called as a greeting, zeroing in on his little sister who glared in response. "I mean that in a really good way, I promise!" he added, laughing.

The sound of his best friend's laughter calmed Harry a bit and made the air in the room feel lighter. It took years, after the war, for Ron to laugh again but lately, it seemed like he never stopped. Of course, that was part of the problem, Harry worried. It had taken a lot for Ron to find happiness after Hermione disappeared. He didn't want things to go back to that dark place now.

Ron gave them both big hugs and then dropped himself into the plush chair across from Ginny's spot on the couch.

"So," he began, sprawling comfortably and nonchalantly out to accommodate his long limbs, "what's the big news you rushed me here for before noon on a weekend?"

Harry glanced nervously at Ginny. Ginny glanced encouragingly back.

Harry took a deep breath.

"It's about Hermione."

At her name, Ron immediately sat up, all traces of nonchalance gone, his posture suddenly tense.

"What about her?"

Harry gulped in air and said cautiously, "We found her."

Ron jumped up, a string of questions immediately flying out of his mouth: "What the hell?! When?! How?! Is she okay? Dammit, Harry! Is she alive?!"

Harry grimaced. "Before I tell you," he temporized, "I need you to promise me that you'll keep a level head. That you'll let me get through the whole story without interrupting me, and that you'll keep an open mind about everything I tell you."

Ron let out a frustrated cry of, "Bloody hell, Harry! Out with it!"

"Promise first," Harry mandated.

Ron let out another exasperated groan but agreed nevertheless: "I bloody well promise. Now get on with it!"

Ginny cleared her throat and motioned for Ron to sit back down. Looking like he would rather do anything but, the tall redhead unwillingly complied.

Then, with one last look at Ginny for comfort, Harry began.

"I found her a few months ago, in America. I think I told you about helping them start up a version of the new Auror training program. Well, a few months ago I flew to the states to meet with some representatives from their government and I ran into her. She works for their government. Pretty high up, actually."

Harry watched as Ron's expressions flickered rapidly back and forth between confusion and concern. He could tell the man had already wanted to interrupt numerous times but was forcing himself to stay quiet, so Harry continued.

"I didn't react well to finding out that she'd not been lost at all, but we eventually talked. Apparently, when she found her parents they had reacted . . . badly, to put it mildly. She had something called a panic attack and tried to break her wand. Her mum convinced her to go to the states instead. She, um . . . she enrolled in a university there under her middle name and has been there ever since."

Harry noted how Ron had blanched when he mentioned her parents' reactions and her rejection of magic. Harry knew the feeling. He'd felt that same painful twang when Hermione had first told him that day in the park. Of course, thinking of the park made Harry's anxiety spike. So far, he hadn't said anything that would cause Ron to explode (except keeping it secret, of course). This next bit was the true test.

And he chickened out.

"I, um . . ." Harry faltered. "Do you have questions so far?"

Ginny sent him a look of utter reproach. Ron, apparently remembering his own Auror training from years before, picked up on it and glared at Harry.

"Continue," he ground out.

Harry took in a shaky breath and gave a warning: "Ron, this next part . . . it's not easy to take. I did not react well at first but —"

Ron cut him off: "I said, continue."

Harry nodded. "She's um . . . Well, she's married. She has kids. A life with, um . . . friends."

Apparently, Ron couldn't hold back any longer: "Harry Potter you will tell me about my best friend's life or I will jinx you from here into tomorrow!"

"She's married to Malfoy," Ginny quickly answered instead, calling out the information Harry was too chicken to reveal. "They have four kids. Her parents are supportive. That's all we really know."

Harry smiled appreciatively at his wife, too scared to look at her male counterpart. Ron was too quiet.

Surprising them all, Ron didn't say a word. He simply stood and marched into the kitchen. Worried, Harry helped Ginny off the couch so that they could follow him.

They entered the kitchen to the sounds of cabinets slamming and Harry took a moment to be grateful his mother in law had taken James and Albus for the day.

Eventually, Ron found what he was looking for. He poured himself a glass of firewhiskey, downed it, and poured another. Then he spoke.

"You went on that trip back in March, yes?" He questioned.

Harry nodded, "Yes."

"March," Ron reiterated. "So you've known that Hermione was alive for four months and didn't bother to tell me?"

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. He felt Ginny grip his hand and squeeze.

"Yes."

Ron was silent for another moment. Then he asked, "Where is she?"

Harry's eyes flew open. "What?"

"I ASKED WHERE MY BEST FRIEND IS!" Ron shouted, his grip shattering the glass cup in his hand.

"She's on her way to London," Ginny announced. Ron's eyebrows shot up. "Shacklebolt has offered her a job heading up a new department in the ministry. She's visiting with her family to decide whether or not to accept the position."

Harry watched as Ron took three steadying breaths before saying, "We're having them over for dinner tonight. You're obviously welcome."

"Am I?" Ron growled. "Am I _welcome_ to know the secrets you're keeping from me?"

Harry took a step toward his friend, but Ginny pulled him back.

"Ron," she started, "Everyone copes with shocking news in their own way. You know that. We're sorry that we waited this long to tell you, but reacting like this isn't going to help Hermione and it isn't going to help you. We want Hermione back in London as much as you do, but if we accost her for her decisions in the past ten years, that won't happen."

Harry listened appreciatively. Ginny was much better with words than he was, but if Ron's incredulous expression was anything to go by, her words weren't _quite_ hitting the mark.

"And did _you_ accost her?" Ron directed this question to Harry, an odd tone Harry didn't recognize tainting his voice. "When you first found her in DC, did you accost her? Judge her? Be anything but entirely supportive of her?"

Harry blushed. He had done all of those things. That's why he expected Ron to do the same.

He nodded sheepishly. "I've apologized and we worked through it, though," he added as if that justified the behavior.

Ron was silent, so Harry continued, "I felt like I'd failed her, for 10 years I'd failed her. So when I realized that she'd been running from me I . . . like I said, I didn't take it very well. And the Malfoy thing . . . But that's why we wanted to tell you here, so you'd be prepared. So that you wouldn't react the way I did."

Ron nodded and, for the first time, Harry noticed tears in his eyes. "I would have just been happy to see her alive," he said sorrowfully. "I'll see you at dinner."

With those last words, Ron apparated out of their kitchen, leaving behind a mess of glass, spilled firewhiskey, and emotion.


	10. Chapter 9, Part 2

A/N - It didn't feel right to call this its own chapter, partially because it's so short and partially because it fits so well with what I wrote for actual Chapter 9, so here's chapter 9, part 2. Maybe at some point in the future I'll update this story and combine them into one chapter but for now, they're separate. Enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter 9, Part 2**

Hermione's body inadvertently tensed as the plane hit another bout of light turbulence. In the set of seats across the aisle, Draco grumbled something about international portkeys and gripped Oliver, who was squirming in Draco's lap and trying to play with the tray table, tighter. She caught Draco's eye and smiled.

The Malfoys were no strangers to flying.

In fact, she and Draco had traveled somewhere via plane almost every summer since their second summer in college and had it down to a well-oiled routine. But at their family grew, it got more and more complicated to herd everyone to the required locations in good spirits. As much as they wouldn't admit it, traveling the magical way would have been much easier. That hadn't been an option, though. Despite Harry and Matt's best efforts, the magical and muggle Departments of Homeland Security were still only allowing international portkeys in emergent situations.

Hermione tensed again and saw Draco's eyes narrow in concern. She rolled her eyes and shook her head, poking fun at herself and assuring her concerned husband that all was well.

Well, all was well physically. Mentally, Hermione couldn't be so sure.

This trip had been a source of intense stress, and not just because flying internationally with four children under the age of five was a bit of a nightmare. Hermione had eventually decided she couldn't pass on the job opportunity without at least visiting the UK first and Draco, though he hated the idea of moving more than he hated the idea of kissing the wrong end of a blast-ended skrewt, had suggested making it that summer's family vacation. A no-brainer, really. One she'd felt silly for not thinking of at the time.

 **********FLASHBACK**********

 **May 2009 (a month ago)**

"I've been thinking," Draco announced that night after they'd put the kids to bed, "going back for the first time in ten years is going to be hard enough - we might as well do it as a family."

Hermione looked up at him from her book, surprised by the suggestion. "Honestly," she breathed, "I would love that, but I didn't realize it was an option."

His hands snaked around her waist and he kissed her nose. She smiled.

"It's an option," he confirmed.

Her heart swelled. She knew Draco didn't like the idea of going back to London, but he had clearly thought this over. He continued, "We could visit my mother. She hasn't been here since the twins were born."

Hermione had to hold back tears forming in her eyes and nodded her agreement.

"I think that would be lovely," she said. She kissed him back, this time on the lips and this time much more forcibly than his chaste peck. As the kiss morphed into more, Hermione sent up yet another silent thanks to whoever was looking out for her life.

Draco's relationship with Narcissa was not particularly strong. In fact, it had taken Hermione intervening to get them to even speak to one another again after he'd moved to the US. Eventually, though, they'd struck up a cordial once-a-semester letter-writing relationship and, _eventually_ , that had progressed to a biweekly phone call. To this day, Hermione giggled when she thought of Narcissa installing a phone in Malfoy Manor.

Despite the improvements, though, the woman had only ever visited them twice: once for the wedding, and once shortly after the twins were born. And she knew Draco missed her.

Additional ideas for their trip immediately started forming in Hermione's mind and her excitement grew to almost overshadow the trepidation she felt about the job offer.

 **********END FLASHBACK**********

The turbulence let up and Hermione looked around at her family. Across the aisle, Draco sat between Carina and Caelum, the nearly ten month old Oliver bouncing happily in his lap. Hermione had packed a bag of games and movies for the twins but mostly, it seemed, they were perfectly content to stare out the window and converse with one another about anything and everything. Even Miranda was easier than either Draco or Hermione had anticipated. She had, of course, been thoroughly put out when told Verona the owl could not fly with them, but seemed to accept it and had instead packed an entire backpack full of books, games, and movies for her trip. Both she and Draco were still waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop but, at the moment, Miranda was completely engrossed in _Finding Nemo._

Hermione was even more thankful that all of her children were thoroughly unbothered by the turbulence thanks to Draco's anti-nausea potions and their youthful willingness to voice potentially scary situations as exciting adventures.

Above their heads, the seatbelt sign clicked off with a ding and Draco began to rise.

"Loo," he explained, as she held out her arms to receive Oliver.

She'd have to go next, Hermione realized. They'd be landing soon and she likely wouldn't have much opportunity to go once they touched down. Wizarding customs is much easier its muggle counterpart, but even with magic they'd have to collect their bags, get their bags screened, floo to the hotel, get everyone settled in, force the children to take a nap, get them ready for dinner after their nap, and get over to the Potters by 6pm. Hermione was tired just thinking about it, so she turned her attention to the currently wide awake baby in her lap.

"Hi baby," she cooed, bouncing Oliver gently. He gurgled something she had decided was most definitely "Mama" and tapped his hands on her cheeks.

Hermione made faces at him, all the while keeping an eye on the twins across the aisle. Caelum had climbed into Draco's now unoccupied seat and was staring curiously out the window with his sister. Hermione, stuck in the middle and therefore unable to see the window, felt her own curiosity rise.

"Cammie, Carina," she called to them and noted with satisfaction that they immediately turned to her, "What do you see?"

Caelum slipped back to his own seat to be closer to her, and announced that they saw a lot of clouds and some grass and maybe a little bit of buildings.

Hermione smiled.

"Do you want some crayons and paper to draw a picture?" She offered. Caelum had gotten really into drawing pictures lately, while Carina preferred to make up stories to accompany the pictures her brother drew. Hermione, Draco, and their elves had all spent quite a bit of time of their free time these past last few months writing whatever Carina dictated on the back of Cammie's artwork. Hermione had plans to bind it all into a book one day.

Neither twin took her up on the offer, though ("Maybe later mummy," they'd chimed).

"Let me know when you see more buildings, please" she asked then instead, sensing their desire to get back to whatever it was they were doing. Two heads nodded and went back to staring. To her right, Hermione heard a woman's voice.

"They're so well behaved," the older woman sitting beside Miranda said, "My own children were a nightmare to fly with and I only had two!"

Hermione smiled. They got this almost every time.

"Are you from England?" the woman asked, her own accent indicating that she most definitely was not.

Hermione nodded, "My husband and I both grew up there, but the children have never been."

"Oh how exciting!" The woman practically squealed, "It's so important to expose young children to travel and culture."

Hermione nodded again. It wasn't that she didn't want to talk to the woman on the plane, but her mind had flashed to the press release she and Draco had written the other day which was now waiting in her bag.

 _Let's hope that's all they'll be exposed to on this trip_ , Hermione thought hopefully, her mind wandering to the hoards of Rita Skeeter wannabes practically guaranteed to accost them upon their arrival.

"Your turn!" Draco's voice called out, pulling her attention away from the woman. Thanking him with her eyes, Hermione unbuckled herself and handed Oliver back to his dad.

Hermione forced the negative thoughts to the back of her mind as she made her way up the aisle to the bathroom. Whatever was waiting for them in London, they'd find out in about forty minutes.

* * *

A/N - a bit filler-y, but hopefully that's ok. I'm working on chapter 10 right now (it's almost ready to be posted) and it's an emotional roller coaster to say the least. Definitely the hardest part of the story for me to write thus far, so I wanted to give myself that little rush of happiness that comes with posting a new chapter before delving back into the feels. Rest assured, though, chapter 10 will be up soon and hopefully it won't disappoint.


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

"Alright, are we all ready?" Hermione asked, her eyes flitting from child to child before landing on Miranda.

The family was standing in their hotel suite, just about ready to leave for dinner at the Potters. Surprisingly, all four of her children had willingly napped that afternoon and there had only been one minor, easily solvable tantrum (Carina and Miranda had both wanted the bed by the window; some rearranging of furniture left them a bit huffy, but satisfied enough to sleep).

Her children glanced around at each other and then nodded at their mother.

"We each picked one toy, and we have our coats," Miranda reported, pausing to look up at her father and baby brother, "and Daddy has Ollie's diaper bag with everything else."

Hermione nodded, allowing her approval to shine through her expression. She'd stolen - and tweaked - this little pre-outing ritual from one of Miranda's preschool teachers, allowing each child a turn at taking some responsibility. Now it was just a matter of getting through the evening incident-free.

"Good. Now make sure you hold tight to your toys when we apparate," she reminded the lot. "Daddy and I won't be fixing any splinched teddy bears until we come home. And we can't fix splinched books." She added the last bit for Miranda's benefit since her studious little girl preferred books and animals to toys and games.

The three kids hugged their chosen items closer to their bodies, then latched themselves onto their chosen parent: Miranda hugged herself to Draco's side, while the twins jumped into Hermione's arms. Carina's little foot accidentally snagged the cord of Hermione's purse, but neither she nor her daughter minded. They'd untangle it momentarily.

With a quick smile at Draco to soothe her own nerves, Hermione pictured the house Harry had sent a picture of and turned on her heel.

They all arrived a moment later on a paved pathway leading up through the front gardens of a country style home that reminded Hermione of a more modern Burrow.

The three older children quickly detached themselves from Hermione and Draco and made their way up the walkway.

"Here goes nothing," she whispered when they had all reached the door.

Draco's free arm snaked around her waist, his hand gently squeezing her side in comfort. She took a breath and reminded herself to be a Gryffindor. After all, this was supposed to be a lot scarier for her husband than for her, right?

Sensing her apprehension, Draco nudged Carina toward the door, encouraging her to knock for them (like most three-year-olds, she liked pushing buttons and knocking on doors).

A moment later the door swung open and Harry was ushering the Malfoy family inside. Hermione had to remind herself to keep a smile on her face and breathe as her friend shook hands with her husband and welcomed each of her children before turning to her.

"Hey Hermione," he said, his eyes shining with unspoken emotion.

"Hey Harry," she replied. She was sure her eyes reflected the same inner turmoil. They stood in silence for a moment as Hermione fought back a prickling sensation in her eyes. Before either could speak again, a series of little footsteps rushed down the hall and Hermione felt her breath catch in her chest.

Standing before her were two miniature Harrys: his children, James and Albus.

Harry introduced them, adding more for her own children's benefit that they called Albus Al for short, and then chuckled slightly when Miranda introduced her own family.

"I'm Miranda. These are my siblings, Carina and Caelum" she said, motioning to the twins sounding rather scarily like a young Draco, "We call him Cammie. And Daddy's holding Oliver. We call him Ollie."

Hermione was still slightly frozen, but Draco bent down to the children's eye level.

"Hi James and Al," he greeted, "my name is Draco, and that's Hermione. She was good friends with your dad, did you know that?"

The little boys nodded excitedly and Hermione felt her breath return. She and Draco had filled her own kids in on who they would be meeting on this trip to England and was relieved that Harry seemed to have done the same. Whatever issues would come up among the adults, she wanted the kids to feel as safe and normal as possible.

"Want to go play?" James, about a year younger than Miranda and a year older than the twins, offered. Cammie and Carina spun around for permission, which Draco and Hermione gave with a nod, and the twins ran off with James and Al. Miranda stayed behind and Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Do you have any owls, Mr. Harry?" she asked instead.

Harry looked only slightly surprised, having seen firsthand the girl's fascination with her own familiar. "We do," he confirmed and told her where to find them. The little girl set off cheerfully and Hermione felt suddenly vulnerable.

Draco rose up to normal height and the three adults stood in silence for a moment. Then Hermione's breath caught again, this time accompanied by an even more rapid pulse.

"Hi Hermione," Ron said quietly, emerging from a side room with an extremely pregnant Ginny in tow. The Weasley siblings moved closer and Harry stepped aside. The foyer suddenly felt very crowded.

"Hermione," Ginny said simply, enveloping her friend in a rather awkwardly bumpy hug that immediately slowed Hermione's heart rate back to normal and set her emotions at relative ease.

"You look great, Ginny."

"My mum helps a lot," the woman offered as an explanation which, Hermione supposed, it was. She felt a slight twinge in her heart. She and Draco managed just fine, but compared to how much Molly Weasley was likely involved in her grandchildren's life, Hermione and Draco's own parents would seem rather disengaged.

"Malfoy," Ron greeted, holding his hand out to the only blonde in the room.

Draco shook it but said nothing in return. Hermione wasn't sure if it was because he felt uncomfortable or if he simply didn't know how to address them without sparking umbrage.

Taking a cue from her brother, Ginny shook Draco's hand as well before inviting them all into the living room for a drink. They had begun to move as a group further into the house when Hermione felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Ron holding her back.

"Could we speak privately for a moment?" He asked, gesturing to the room he and Ginny had come out of previously. Hermione's eyes darted up the hallway to the retreating forms of her husband, Harry, and Ginny and then back to the man she'd once thought she'd marry. She nodded.

When she walked into the room he'd chosen, Hermione immediately wondered if he chose it on purpose: an entire wall was lined with shelves, all of which were filled with a huge array of books both magical and muggle.

Ron sat down on one of the couches; Hermione took a place opposite him on its twin. Her shoulders were tense, her hands folded tightly in her lap as she waited for the redhead to speak.

Hermione listened to the grandfather clock behind them tick away the seconds. She'd counted forty-seven ticks when Ron finally spoke:

"Harry tells me you're doing well?"

Hermione nodded.

"I was angry that Harry and Ginny didn't tell me they'd found you," he explained, his expression something she couldn't place. "I love them, of course, but they can be a bit overprotective at times." Hermione recognized his new expression: Ron was grinning sheepishly. She could be a bit overprotective at times, too, a fact she knew he remembered clearly.

"So I want to say I'm sorry," Ron continued, his face once again unreadable, "I've missed you, and I'm really glad you're back."

"I've missed you too," she replied, unable to bring herself to mirror the other two sentiments just yet. She saw his cheek twitch slightly, turning his slight smile into a frown for a millisecond. She fidgeted on the couch and glanced at her shoes.

"I'm sure this is hard for you."

Hermione nodded again.

"I know we're not friends like we used to be."

She looked up from her shoes. Another nod.

"But I'd like for us to work through everything and try to become close again."

Hermione hesitated.

"I think I'd like that too."

Now it was Ron's turn to nod. "Would it be alright if I hugged you?"

Hermione smiled and stood to receive him with open arms. She wasn't sure who this new Ron was or how he had come to be, but she thought she liked it.

Dinner was far less awkward than their greetings. After Ron and Hermione had joined the other adults for drinks they had quickly called the children to the table, each parent (or Uncle, in Ron's case) overseeing the washing of hands and doling out of food before the actual eating began. And once that started, the adults were able to lapse into parent-mode rather easily.

It was necessary, with seven little ones at the table.

Their attention partially occupied, the adults' conversation focused primarily on something easy: work. Harry talked about interesting cases, Ginny about upcoming articles for her Quidditch column, and Ron about working with George at the joke shop. Miranda's attention had been captured by Ron's stories. She'd been particularly interested in Ron's explanation of the Pygmy Puffs and surprised no one by begging Hermione and Draco to allow a visit to the shop later that week.

Toward the end of the meal, while Draco was sharing his potions' company's latest work on cures for muggle-bourne illnesses, the Potter and Malfoy children had begun scheming.

At their rising tones, the adults broke off to listen just as James suggested leaving the table in favor of the playroom upstairs.

"James Sirius, you have not asked permission to leave the table yet," Ginny reminded sharply. The little boy jumped, not realizing his mother had heard his conversation with his new friends.

"Can we go play?" He asked, genuinely, sounding far more like the sweet young Harry Hermione knew than like the boy's marauding namesakes, at least according to the stories. Ginny nodded and looked to Hermione, obviously not wanting to give permission to someone else's children. The twins saw.

"Mummy can we?" Caelum asked excitedly, just as Carina begged: "Please can we play, Daddy?"

"We'll be really careful with Al," Caelum promised, looking at Draco.

"and we'll not do anything mean or scary," Carina added, her eyes flashing to Hermione.

"and we'll wash our hands," they finished together.

"Our house elf can watch over them all, and Oliver," Ginny offered, inclining her head toward the baby who was struggling to stay awake in his high chair.

Hermione caught Draco's eye. "You may go play," they replied in unison.

Four children scrambled out of their chairs, Miranda announced that she was going back to the little owlery behind the kitchen, and a house elf appeared to take Oliver somewhere he could sleep undisturbed.

As soon as the last pair of feet crossed the dining room, Ron burst out laughing. Hermione jumped slightly and whipped her head over to him. He had been so quiet all evening that the loud guffaws she'd associated with him in their youth now seemed out of place.

"That was bloody priceless," Ron explained, clutching his stomach.

"Oh man I —" he paused then, the laughter subsiding, "I haven't seen double teaming like that since Fred and George," he finished.

Hermione felt her heart skip a beat. Memories of fireworks, swamps, and nosebleed nougats filled her mind. For a moment there was utter silence. And then, to her surprise, Draco spoke up:

"I guess we'll have to get some tips from your mother, then."

Ron smiled tightly, his eyes shining with unshed tears, though whether they were from laughter or pain, Hermione wasn't sure. Maybe they were from both.

"I think she would love that," Ron acknowledged, nodding slightly. She heard Draco inhale sharply and assumed he was pleased he had said the right thing. Around the table, all five adults relaxed into their seats.

After another beat of silence, Harry cleared his throat.

"I'm really glad you're here, Hermione," he said sincerely. She flashed a half smile. As painful and stressful as much of this was, a warmth and welcome sense of home-ness _had_ permeated their dinner.

But then Harry said, "Before we do dessert, though, I think there's something you need to know. _Accio charter._ "

An official parchment came zooming in from somewhere outside the dining room; Hermione's muscles tightened. Her pulse began to quicken and, as they only did on rare occasions, her palms started to get a bit sweaty.

"When the Wizengamot voted to approve the creation of the department," Harry explained, handing the parchment across the table to Hermione, "they did so with the condition that you would head it."

She snatched the document out of Harry's hands, her empty hand curling into a fist as her eyes scanned the signed decree. _There it is_ , she thought, trying to stop her bottom lip from trembling. _I knew this was too good to be true._

The sound of youthful laughter traveled to them from another part of the house, and her eyes started to prickle. She hadn't wanted to be right, but it seemed Harry had manipulated her into a corner. Now, if she said no, she was screwing over an entire country.

When she didn't say anything, Harry continued: "Apparently, while the members liked the idea of forming the department - of modernizing - they felt it would only be successful if someone who knew what they were doing at the helm."

Hermione's lip was still trembling and she dropped the now slightly crumpled parchment onto the table.

"You manipulated her," Draco practically growled beside her, decades-old tension radiating off of him for the first time all night. It wasn't a question.

"No!" Harry exclaimed, sounding surprised and desperate. "No, I —"

Draco cut him off with his trademark Malfoy sneer.

"So you _weren't_ trying to manipulate her into moving back?" Draco drawled threateningly. Hermione's jaw finally tightened. She glared across the table, adding her own disbelief to her husband's.

Harry leaned back in his seat as if backing away from his adolescent rival and ran a hand through his mess of hair.

"It started out that way, yes," he confessed, avoiding Draco's narrowed eyes and looking instead at Hermione, "But, please believe me when I say I never intended to cause you harm and I'm really sorry if I have. I know you have an amazing life in the States. You have a great family, a great job, a great life. I saw all of that. But . . . well, I also saw how scared you were of coming back - of being judged, or haunted by the past, or . . .

Look if you don't want to come back to London, that's fine," his voice broke slightly; his hands made another pass through the mop of raven hair atop his head. "You need to do what's best for you and your family, so if you choose to stay in the US - if you choose to turn down the job, that's okay. But turn down the job because you don't want it. Stay in the US because you want to. Don't choose to stay in the US because you're scared of facing your past, of confronting your fears, of . . .

I love you, Hermione. You're my sister, so I'm sorry if I went about this in the wrong way. I know you have a great life in the US. But I wanted . . . I _needed_ you to see that you don't _have_ to be in the US to have a great life. You can have just as great a life here if you want it. I didn't want to force your hand. I promise you that. But I needed you to realize that coming back was an option."

Harry's shoulders dropped and he slumped down slightly, breathing deeply, his hands palm-down on the table. He didn't take his eyes off her, though.

Hermione, for her part, was having some trouble breathing. She was hot - physically, scalding hot, from her chest up to her ears and she resisted the urge to press her freezing hands to her cheeks. She also had a strong urge to curl into a ball underneath the table.

 _He manipulated you_ , she reminded herself.

But despite his misguided actions, Harry clearly still loved her. So _was_ she hiding from her past? _Did_ she stay in the US out of fear? Her heart was beating madly.

Eyebrows scrunched, Hermione let songs from college parties play in her head. She smelled the warm cookies Matt's wife baked weekly for the office and felt her constricted chest relax slightly as she remembered hugging family and friends at the holidays. She thought about the other parents she'd met and become friends with and her mouth watered when she thought about book club snacks at _Lisa's_. Her stomach muscles unclenched slightly, and she felt the desire to hide under the table weaken.

And then she heard the very real, non-memory sound of her children running around upstairs, and the coils rewound themselves in her intestines.

They had plans to see the whole Weasley clan tomorrow, and Narcissa the day after that. Harry had called her his sister. Imaginary children's voices were added to the real ones echoing from above, and Hermione heard the long-forgotten familial jumble of meals at the Burrow. Both she and Draco were only children; her children wouldn't have real cousins, but perhaps . . . could they have makeshift ones?

Her pulse was racing again and it took a moment for Hermione to realize that neither of the two Weasleys at this particular table had said a word.

Ron had propped his elbows on the table and had his head in his hands, so Hermione looked nervously at Ginny.

"And what about you?" she asked, failing to keep her voice from cracking and fairly certain her heart was close to beating right out of her chest and onto her plate, "I'm assuming you had a hand in all this?"

Ginny nodded, "It was originally my idea."

When she stopped there, Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"If you're asking me if I'm sorry," Ginny spoke softly, but confidently, "my honest answer is no, I'm not sorry. Not at all."

Flames rushed over Hermione's body head to toe and settled somewhere around her chest. She felt something deep inside her roar. Before Hermione could start screaming though, Ginny continued.

"I love you, Hermione. You were one of my best friends and I still consider you family. I have missed you every day for ten years and when Harry told me he'd found you, I was ecstatic. I would love nothing more than to be in your life and to have you in mine. But frankly, after the war, you were a selfish bitch."

Hermione's jaw dropped. Ron glanced up sharply, cringed, and then dropped his head back into his hands. Draco reached out and curled a hand around Hermione's thigh.

Harry cast a muffliato charm.

"I understand that you were traumatized," Ginny continued, her voice sharp but not hateful, "and that you were even more traumatized when you found your parents. Harry told me what happened. I can't imagine how painful that must have been for you. But we were all traumatized, Hermione, and you abandoned us. We needed you, but you didn't care about us, did you? You didn't give a shit."

"Of course I cared!" Hermione retorted, her voice shaking though whether from anger or something else she wasn't sure. "I spent seven years caring about everyone but myself. Sacrificing myself and my health and my needs for you all. So I'm sorry that the one time I did something to save my own life you couldn't handle it."

"And just who said we couldn't handle it?" Ginny questioned angrily, arms crossed tightly above her protruding stomach. "You made an assumption, Hermione. You didn't check in, you didn't notify us. Did you really think so little of us that you thought we wouldn't have respected your needs? Or did you just not think about us at all? Merlin, Hermione if you had just said you needed space we would have supported you! I can't believe I have to say that!"

"You wouldn't have understood," Hermione responded, her voice sounding small and pathetic as it made the excuse she'd clung to for ten years. Draco's hand gripped her thigh tighter under the table but she barely registered it.

Ginny was shaking her head. "There you go making assumptions again," she accused. "What exactly wouldn't have we understood? Tell me, did you ever - at any point while in Australia or in the ten years that followed - think about how we were all feeling? I'm not just talking about how you disappeared without a trace, two weeks after a war in which people who disappeared without traces were usually dead. I'm talking about how every single one of us had faced a trauma. We all went through hell and back together. Did you really think you were the only one who had come out with some emotional bumps and bruises?"

"I —" Hermione tried to cut in.

"My brother was murdered, Hermione!" Ginny roared suddenly, raising her voice for the first time all night. Everyone else in the room flinched and Harry doubled the muffliato charm. Hermione noted vaguely that her left arm had started shaking slightly.

"Families were torn apart!" Ginny continued shouting. "Harry blamed every single death on himself! Did you think about that? No. You didn't, because you were only thinking about yourself! And Ron —"

Suddenly Ron shot up, laying a hand sharply on his sister's arm and shaking his head. Ginny's mouth clamped immediately.

Ginny eyes shone with unshed tears. Harry wasn't holding his back. Hermione wasn't sure about Ron, because he had turned away and was staring at the wall. _What had Ginny been about to say?_

Draco was frozen, his long fingers curling into her thigh so tightly it would probably bruise.

Ginny took a deep, rasping breath, and Hermione reminded herself to keep breathing too.

"You made a choice, Hermione," Ginny explained, once again speaking calmly. "A choice that hurt a lot of people, not because of what you chose, but because you made it without thinking. Without considering the consequences. Without considering the people and the pain you'd be leaving behind.

This time, you're not going to have that luxury. We will support whatever choice you make, but no matter what you are going to have to make a choice, and this time you're damn well going to acknowledge the consequences. And if facing those consequences is stressful for you, or sad or painful, then good. It should be. Because choices - no matter how necessary - impact everyone around you for better or worse and it's time you damn well learned that."

Hermione felt her breath hitch. The skin on her face felt like it had been stretched tight. _How dare she?_

"Excuse me," Ginny said, pushing herself out of the chair and leaving the room too quickly for Hermione to spit back a retort.

Through the ferocious flames, a little voice whispered that maybe redhead had a point. Had Hermione been selfish? Had she taken the easy way out? Hermione could remember feeling like she didn't have a choice at the time but . . . had she had a choice? Would her friends have supported her decision?

"I was nineteen," Hermione bit out through a tightly set jaw, her voice gravelly. Maybe she had been selfish, but weren't nineteen-year-olds allowed to be a bit selfish?

"I was scared and I felt alone. Maybe I wasn't actually alone," she conceded at the utterly decimated look on Harry's face, "but that's how I felt at the time. I did what I needed to do. I know choices have consequences but I did what I needed to do!"

Hermione's eyes stung with unshed tears. The prickly sensation and tightness of skin had migrated: her whole upper body felt rigid.

"I couldn't be around magic," Hermione pleaded for them to understand, focusing her attention on Harry and Ron now that Ginny had left the room. "I had panic attacks every day for weeks!"

She needed them to understand. Maybe they could explain to Ginny. She had done what she needed to do.

"I spent a month living with Dudley," Harry replied tersely.

 _He . . . what?_ "You what?"

At the same time, Draco wondered aloud, "Who?"

Hermione glanced at her husband out of the corner of her eye. That was the first time he'd said anything since the shouting had started. His fingers loosening and retightening on her thigh told her this question had been a slip-up: he hadn't meant to interject.

"My muggle cousin," Harry explained, his voice soft as if he were talking to Buckbeak. Hermione could see his veins pulsing in his throat despite his gentle tone.

"After you left and Ron . . ." his voice hitched for a beat before trudging on, leaving whatever it was about Ron unspoken, "I had nightmares every night for a week, so I stopped going to sleep. That made it worse. Ginny tried to get me to see a Healer, but I'd started thinking that if only I'd been born to my Aunt Petunia, none of this would have happened. It wasn't rational, obviously, but I kept wishing I was a muggle, so I decided to give it a try. I slept on Dudley's couch for a month."

Hermione felt a lump forming in her throat and realized that she couldn't find the words. She hated not being able to find the words. Being without words was like being caught without clothes, in public, in a thunderstorm.

"The Weasleys would visit us every few days. Dudley really likes Molly's cooking," Harry finished sheepishly, fidgeting with his watch before looking directly into Hermione's overly rounded eyes.

"Ginny's right you know. If you'd have told us you needed to get away, to take a break, not only would we have respected that, we would have helped you move."

Then, with an apologetic grimace, Harry got up and followed his wife out of the room.

Draco, Ron, and Hermione sat in silence.

Finally, Ron spoke.

"We didn't see it."

His tone was soothing though pained, as if he was simultaneously apologizing and explaining. Hermione blinked rapidly. The prickling didn't stop.

"See what?"

"Your trauma," Ron clarified. "Harry and I didn't see it. My healer says it's because we were so wrapped up in our own trauma that we didn't - weren't able to see anyone else's. And it sounds like your trauma got a lot worse once you met your parents, so it makes sense that you didn't notice ours."

Hermione's brain stumbled, her mouth making a few uncoordinated sounds, still unable to find the words she so desperately craved.

"I think that's why Harry and I are able to understand and forgave you more easily," Ron continued. "We know that you didn't mean to be a bad friend — or a bad sister. We get it, but we've also spent the past ten years feeling sorry about not seeing your trauma and trying to come to terms with our mistakes. I think . . . well, I can't really speak for Ginny, but I think she's so upset because, well you don't seem to be at all sorry in return."

 _What? Of course I was sorry!_ Hermione's mind immediately argued. But then _. . . an hour ago I wasn't._

"Shit, Weasley," Draco loosened his grip on Hermione's leg slightly as he spoke. "When did you become so in tune with your emotions?"

Hermione glanced between the two men. Draco had an eyebrow raised, though his posture was still perfectly rigid.

Ron chuckled, but Hermione heard darkness underneath. It was the same darkness she'd seen underneath his smiles, she realized with a start.

"With everything that had happened, I wasn't doing well," he offered vaguely. "I hid it well. Ginny was the only one who saw what was going on. She . . . well, let's just say she pulled me out of a really dark place and forced me to get help. It worked. After that, Ginny proposed a law requiring everyone affected in the War to see a Mental Health Healer. They passed it and they even offered financial help for those who wanted to continue their appointments past the required check-ups. I still go once a month."

Hermione couldn't help but fall back into her chair as the information washed over her. Still curious about what had happened to Ron, her hands fell into her lap.

 _If I'd stayed,_ _I would have been forced to see a mental health healer._

"I don't regret my choices," she said stubbornly, but slowly, not looking up from the hands folded in her lap.

"No one ever said you should." Ron's eyes flashed toward Draco and back to her. "Sure, we might have protested a bit at first, but I would have loved to come to your graduation, and your wedding, and to be there for your kids' birthdays —"

With each example of what she'd missed out on, Hermione felt a needle puncture her heart.

"— but I've learned that everything happens for a reason. I'd have loved to be there for all those things, but I wasn't and it's no use getting upset about that because it's not going to change anything. That said, an 'I'm sorry' would have been nice."

Something the size and weight of an elephant sat down on her heart, sending the needles that had lodged there on a kamikaze mission throughout her entire body. She couldn't breathe.

The prickling in her eyes burst; the dam broke. The tears she'd been holding back cascaded down her cheeks and she choked out a sob, and then another. She felt Draco's arm move from her thigh to her back, tracing soothing circles up and down.

Then something moved in the corner of her eye and suddenly Ron was beside her, pulling her out of her seat and enveloping her in a massive bear hug. Her arms hung helplessly at her sides. Ron tightened his arms around her. She wasn't sure how much time passed before she felt her breath return and tried to take in a swallow of air.

"I'm sorry," she let out breathily, not entirely sure what she was apologizing for but feeling like she was supposed to say it.

"You're family, Hermione," Ron whispered gently. "Family messes up, but they're still family."

"Draco, too?" She asked through her now-less intense sobs, eyes crinkling in attempted humor.

"The Bouncing Ferret is family now too," Ron laughed, loosening his hold on her, "Though he and Percy will have to fight over the title of biggest prat." Draco snorted. A tiny ray of sunlight hit her heart-sitting elephant, and it shrunk slightly.

Hermione took a few more shaky breaths. "What do I do now?" She asked, wiping some of the salt water off her cheeks.

Ron smiled sadly. "I think that depends."

"On?"

"Just because I understand why you did what you did doesn't mean you didn't do it," Ron explained carefully, holding her away from him slightly so that he could look into her eyes. "Just because I forgave you doesn't mean Ginny isn't also right."

Hermione's heart dropped into her stomach.

"Was I really that horrible?" The question came out as a whisper.

Ron blinked. "I'm going to check on the kids," he announced instead of answering. He let go of her arms and moved toward the doorway. Hermione looked at Draco for support, but he was watching Ron.

"Ginny will probably be in the library," Ron added over his shoulder "that's where she goes when she misses you most."

Hermione sunk back into her seat and dropped her head into an arm-pillow on the table. Draco's hand returned to rub gentle circles on her back. Hermione felt a much more welcome warmth than her imaginary flames spreading through her body, starting where his hand lay on her back. Her left arm was still shaking, though less dramatically. The tears had stalled momentarily, but she could feel them waiting at the edges of her eyes. They'd return, but for now, Draco kept them at bay.

"I think you did to your friends what I did to my mother."

Draco's voice was gentle and thoughtful and caught her entirely off guard. She tensed. The hand stopped in its circular path momentarily and then took up again.

"What do you mean?" She asked wearily.

"Remember freshman year?" he coached, scooting his chair closer as he prompted her to think back to the beginnings of their friendship. "I was in that really bad place and I blamed her. I blamed her for my situation - for the choices I felt like I'd been forced to make. And in a way, she was to blame. She was my mother - she was supposed to protect me from people like Lucius and Voldemort - but she was also a victim. Just as much of a victim as I was."

Hermione nodded. He was speaking her own words back to her - words she had repeated time and time again throughout the first two years of their relationship until he'd finally listened and allowed her to contact Narcissa on his behalf.

"Your friends were just as young and scared and broken by the war as we were," Draco stopped rubbing her back entirely. Instead, he reached out, pulled her onto his lap and hugged her tightly to him. She let her head fall onto his chest as he spoke softly, the words floating just above her head. "Harry and Ron and Ginny were victims too, but instead of seeing that, you victimized yourself and blamed them."

Hermione sniffled. "So I am horrible?"

Draco shook his head, his chin moving back and forth on top of her head, ruffling her hair. "If I'm not horrible, you're certainly not horrible," he assured her. She tried to force a smile.

"Mya," he pulled away slightly and turned her head, forcing her to look into the silver-grey eyes that had become, at various points in her life, like a lifeboat and an anchor. "I am the luckiest man in the world to have married you and our children are the luckiest kids in the world to have you as a mother. You amaze me every day. You are not horrible. But remember what you said to me, about my past?"

It took a moment, but the words eventually came back to her.

"Don't forget it," she recalled, slowly letting her own advice sink in, "because it happened. Don't regret it, because it made you who you are today. Accept it, because you can't fix it if you pretend it wasn't bad, but then make amends and aim to make every day just a little bit better than yesterday for the rest of your life, because you can."

Draco nodded.

Hermione sighed and dropped her head back into his chest. The moments passed by. Draco held her tight. Finally, she took a steadying breath and pulled her head away.

"Are you ready to talk to Ginny?" He asked. Hermione nodded.

"Let's go find the library then."

* * *

Ginny sat as comfortably as she could on her favorite couch in the library. She'd need help getting up - she'd known that when she sat down on the plush sofa - but it was worth it. Not even the sofa's welcoming embrace cleared the tension from her neck and shoulders.

She brought her hands up to shield her eyes and sighed. That hadn't exactly gone according to plan.

"Hey."

Ginny moved an arm out of the way. Her husband was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed lightly over his chest.

The side of her mouth crooked up in a nervous smile.

"Hey."

Harry uncrossed his arms and moved languidly into the room, sitting down on the sofa next to her. After a moment, he asked, "So?"

Ginny sighed again.

"I got mad."

Harry let out a short bark of laughter.

"That was obvious."

Ginny flung the arm back up over her eyes. She felt Harry shift his weight next to her but didn't look. Her entire body felt like a massive weight — and not just because of the pregnancy.

"Was that was this was all about?" Harry asked sadly, "Get her back just to yell at her for leaving?"

Ginny squeezed her eyes shut even tighter. The pain in her husband's voice shot straight through her and hit that place deep in the back of her soul.

"Of course not," she explained, hating that he thought she'd be that vindictive but knowing, as she said it, that she could have been. She may share the Weasley temper, but she had more Prewett in her than her brothers, and the Prewetts had always been a vengeful lot.

"Then, what?"

She couldn't see it, but she just knew Harry's face was pinched.

Ginny's thoughts raced back through the past few months, her chest tightening with each memory.

Just then Ron burst into the room.

"What the hell happened to not accosting her?" He accused, glaring at Ginny.

Ginny leaned her head back against the couch cushion, holding her now pounding head in her hands.

"Ron," Harry warned. Ginny could hear that his voice was still pinched, though. Apparently, both men were upset with her. Ron folded his arms across his puffed up chest.

"I was speaking to my sister," he said gruffly.

Ginny struggled to lean forward on the couch and looked into her brother's eyes.

"I didn't mean to," she confessed for the second time that evening.

The siblings stared at each other silently, defiantly. Ron broke eye contact first.

"Great Gin, just great," he spat, turning away from her and leaning up against a bookshelf.

Ginny watched him go, her muscles tight. When his shoulders finally relaxed, so did hers.

"How is she?" she asked hopefully.

Ron's shoulders stiffened again and he turned to glare. "How do you think she is?" Then, shaking his head, "she's processing."

Ron looked from his sister to the couch and then moved to sit in the same armchair he'd thrown himself into earlier that day. He threw his head back into his hands and the three of them sat in silence. Ginny felt like she was being steeped in a mug of blame-tea, but she probably deserved it. She deserved to be angry - that was would not back down on. But she'd lost her cool when explaining everything; it could have been handled more demurely. Maybe she'd blame the pregnancy hormones.

Ginny rubbed a hand absentmindedly across her belly. _No,_ she thought, _it wasn't the pregnancy hormones._

"Potter? Weasley?" Draco Malfoy's voice called into the room. Ginny pulled her arms off her eyes and looked at the doorway. Hermione was standing slightly behind Draco, determination shining through red-rimmed and puffy eyes. "Mind giving them a minute?"

Ginny watched as Harry and Ron rose from their seats and followed Draco out of the room. Hermione hesitated before coming in and sitting down across from Ginny on the opposite couch. Ginny let her hands fall to her sides, waiting for Hermione to speak. Hermione had her hands in her lap. A slight movement drew Ginny's eyes down to them; Hermione was gently rubbing her wedding band and staring at a point slightly to the left and down.

The grandfather clock ticked poignantly.

Hermione didn't speak.

"I probably shouldn't have yelled," Ginny confessed, her hand rubbing back and forth across the bump that would become her daughter in just a few more weeks.

Hermione's eyes caught the motion.

"No, but I probably needed you to."

Ginny felt her eyebrows raise into her hairline. "I figured you'd be pissed as hell at me."

Something dark flashed across Hermione's face but disappeared almost as quickly.

"I was."

"But?"

Ginny watched Hermione take in a few deep breaths, apprehension holding tight to her lungs. If she knew Hermione at all — and she liked to think she did — the former Gryffindor bookworm was searching for the right phrasing.

"What happened to Ron?"

Ginny's heart rate lurched; she felt the baby kick. Unprepared, the memories flooded her mind. Scrunching her eyes with the effort of occluding her mind from her own unwelcome invasion, she forced them back and shook her head rather more viciously than was likely necessary.

"If he wants you to know, he'll tell you himself," she explained. Ron had stopped her from saying anything at dinner but likely wouldn't have needed to. The pain of reliving it would have prevented the words from leaving her mouth.

Hermione seemed to accept that, albeit reluctantly. She slumped a bit in the couch. Finally, her eyes met Ginny's. The anger and resentment that had been there during their fight at the table were no longer there. Just pain. Ginny frowned.

"I realize now that I was selfishly blind to anyone's trauma but my own due to the severity of my own trauma."

Ginny nodded slowly, realizing why Hermione had asked about Ron. She sounded like Ron after a therapy session: like a talking textbook on mental health.

"I —" a loud crash from upstairs made them both jump a bit, and Hermione seemed to falter in her prepared speech.

When nothing dramatic followed the crash, Ginny turned back to her old friend and smiled encouragingly, hoping she'd continue.

"I am sorry that you all were so hurt by my tactless behavior, but I don't regret my choices."

A twisting sensation pulled her heart muscles around in a circle. _Not a great apology_ , she thought bitterly, but Hermione wasn't done. In fact, her voice had grown ten times stronger.

"I was nineteen, and I was traumatized by war. I was allowed to be selfish. And as harmful as that was to people I loved, it led me to the life I have now and I wouldn't trade my family or my life for anything. And frankly, I don't appreciate being manipulated. If you thought I was being a horrid bitch, you could have said so much sooner than this. You didn't need to bring me all the way to England to do that."

Ginny had smiled tightly throughout Hermione's speech but, when she got to the end, she couldn't help but chuckle sadly. Even Harry had suspected the whole thing had been a ploy to yell at Hermione. But it hadn't been. Truly.

She explained as such to Hermione.

"So then, why?" Hermione asked, her voice apprehensive. Her fingers were once again tracing the band of her wedding ring.

"Because the Ministry for Magic, reformed as it may be since the war, is a joke," Ginny replied honestly, allowing the bitter amusement to flow through. "It may not be run by pureblood supremacists anymore but it was still organized by them. It needs you."

Ginny watched as Hermione's eyebrows contorted in thought. The woman sat up straighter; her fingers stopped running across her wedding band.

"Why me?"

Ginny scoffed. "Seriously? You're Hermione Granger! Everyone knows you're the best!"

The room was unexpectedly silent and Ginny watched Hermione's eyes grow wide. She raised a brow questioningly at the overly bright witch, wondering what she'd said to elicit such a response.

"That's just it, Ginny," Hermione breathed, a smile to rival the Cheshire cat's growing on her face. "I'm not."

* * *

 **A/N** \- This was an incredibly difficult chapter to write emotionally and otherwise. Hopefully, I did it justice. As always, thanks for reading and reviewing!


	12. Chapter 11

**A/N** \- Sorry this took so long! I was really hoping to post a long time ago, but life got in the way and then I didn't have internet access for a while. So many of you were so worried after the last chapter, thinking you'd guessed what I had in store for our new Malfoy family. I'm really curious to see your reactions after this one.

* * *

 **Chapter 11**

"So are you going to tell me what happened in the library or am I going to have to guess?" Draco asked, trying to keep the obvious anxiety out of his voice as Hermione quietly closed the door separating their half of the hotel suite from the room where their children were sleeping.

After leaving Hermione and Ginny in the library to talk earlier that evening, Draco, Harry, and Ron had made their way into the kitchen for a nightcap. They hadn't spoken much and eventually, they had gone up to check on the kids. Miranda, as absolutely nobody was surprised to see, had made herself entirely at home in the Potters' small owlery. They found her curled up on the floor with the two owls in her lap and one on her shoulder, reading her book aloud to the oddly enraptured birds. No adults needed.

When they walked into the playroom things were a bit more hectic. Albus had become frustrated with a tower of blocks; a burst of accidental magic caused the structure to crash spectacularly to the floor just as they entered the room. Carina, apparently, thought this was absolutely hilarious. James was annoyed and Cammie, sweetheart that he is, tried to make Albus feel better with a hug and a heartfelt "it's okay."

Ron laughed, Harry smiled, and Draco felt a weight drop onto his lungs. He wasn't friends with the two male members of the golden trio by any means, and the thought of being friends with them and their families filled him with tension. But at the sight of their kids getting on so well, he found himself actually entertaining the thought of what it would mean to move back to England.

One rebuilt tower —and a few newly built towers— later, Hermione flew in to the playroom, the charter document Harry had presented her with earlier clutched in her hand.

She had practically dragged Harry into the hallway and returned only moments later to insist that it was time to go back to the hotel. Draco had known better than to ask what was going on at the time, but the desire to know what happened — and the anxiety he was now feeling about the choice facing their family — had grown to the point where it was practically eating him alive.

Now they were back at the hotel, the kids bathed and sleeping, and he couldn't wait any longer.

"Well?" he asked again when his wife did not respond.

Hermione was undressing slowly, setting her clothes and accessories down neatly as she always did. This shared mannerism of theirs was normally endearing to him, but just that moment he thought he'd rather banish the items altogether than have to wait.

Hermione gestured towards the paper she had left on their bed. The charter.

"Read it," she said, moving into the en suite bathroom

Draco hesitated.

"Why?" He called out over the unmistakable sound of Hermione brushing her teeth.

"Read it," she garbled back simply, the words muffled by a mouthful of toothpaste.

Draco read quickly and impatiently. The charter was exactly as Harry had said at dinner. The Wizengamot had approved the creation and development of a new department of intergovernmental communication between Wizarding London and their Muggle counterparts, to be established and run by Hermione Granger. There was no ambiguity about it. Without her, there would be no department.

"I don't think I understand," he confessed still desperately. Her friends had still manipulated her, hadn't they? The charter still pigeonholed her into the job or screwed over Wizarding London if she turned it down. Didn't it? Maybe the stress of the evening was getting to him. His eyes were sharply dry and his stomach had felt full of lead ever since dinner.

Hermione returned from the bathroom clad only in an extremely fluffy robe. The usually extremely appealing sight did nothing to diminish his anxiety.

"Do you notice anything wrong with the charter?" Hermione asked, sounding more like herself than she had in days, weeks even.

"Something wrong?" he echoed. Was he completely missing something or was he just too tired to understand what he was seeing?

Hermione's small arms circled his waist from behind and she placed a light kiss on his shoulder. He relaxed slightly, though not nearly enough to rid himself of the crippling stress. She kissed his neck. Her finger pointed at two words on the page and finally, he understood.

"You're not Hermione Granger," he stated cautiously as she kissed him again. This time the tension lessened and his body began to respond.

"No," her arms moved lower. "I'm not."

"And this is what you discovered while talking to Ginny?"

"Among other things."

"But this is the most important?" He guessed, knowing that she wasn't being maliciously coy but simply wrapped up in her discovery.

"You made up at least?" He confirmed, already knowing that she would not have been in such high spirits had they continued their fight in the library. He felt her head nod against his back.

"So will their mistake really help us?" He asked, the remaining tension practically flooding out of him as his body began to fully register their current situation.

"I have a plan." His breath caught. Her hands were no longer around his waist.

Laughing lightly, he asked whether or not she was still referring to the charter. Her tinkling laugh filled him with warmth.

"It's a loophole we can exploit to our benefit," she explained in her politician-voice and Draco felt a rush of sick pride. His wife was back in politician mode. He spun around in her arms, taking her in his own, and saw her smiling deviously up at him.

"They tried to manipulate a Malfoy," he drawled, smirking at the woman he hadn't seen in full form since the job offer had come.

"Rather stupid of them, wouldn't you say?"

Draco nodded, moving his own hands to match the location of hers.

"Do you want to hear my plan now?" Hermione practically purred, "or in the morning."

Draco's breath caught and a very important muscle spasmed. _Merlin, thank you for this woman,_ Draco practically prayed.

"Morning," he growled, pulling her closer. "Definitely morning."

* * *

The Malfoy family had spent the following days mostly as planned, visiting Narcissa at the Manor and the Weasleys at the Burrow. They hadn't yet ventured as a family into any of Wizarding or Muggle London's hotspots in order to avoid the press, but they'd scheduled to do so later that week; for now, it was best to remain out of the public eye.

Their plan, he concluded, was rather brilliant.

With each meeting and hushed discussion while the children played Draco felt more and more sure of their decision. It certainly had helped that their comfort levels increased the more time they spent with her old friends. It had also helped that, for the past two days, Draco had felt strong surges of childish superiority course through him each time a Weasley realized just how much Hermione had changed. But even though he felt like bragging and boasting that his wife was deliciously brilliant and _all his_ , he held himself back. Why rub her Malfoy-like smirk in Ron or Ginny's face when, by not doing so, he was rewarded each night in the hotel? Why snark about how Hermione had very likely managed to out-manipulate the Ministry when they could —nakedly — bask in that glory each morning? And there was no need to mention that he and Hermione had both temporarily lost faith in their own abilities. Hermione Malfoy was back, so there was no need to mention these things.

That said, at the moment, Draco would readily admit that he was once again feeling anxious. Scratch that. He would readily admit to Hermione that he was anxious.

Today was the day their plans would either come to fruition . . . or not. And, in less than three minutes, he and Hermione would officially re-enter Wizarding London in front of an entire crowd of reporters. Yes, he could admit to his wife that he was anxious.

But he needn't admit to anyone that he would have been even more anxious had it not been for Potter and Weasley. If not for the two male branches of the Golden Trio, Draco's anxiety would have spiked through the roof and quite possibly extended into full-blown panic.

Leaving their kids to play with the other children at the Burrow, Draco and Hermione had given each other a reassuring hug, whispered comforting reminders to one another, and stepped into the floo after Ron.

Seconds later, they arrived in the lobby of the Ministry of Magic and a single word flashed through Draco's mind.

 _Fuck_.

There were reporters everywhere, hollering questions and shoving into one another in their attempts to get close to him and his wife.

Luckily, Harry had used some bureaucratic muscle: an entire security team from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was already waiting at the fireplaces and were currently tasked with the hard job of physically preventing the reporters from launching themselves at the arrivals.

The whooshing sound of George Weasley arriving in the fireplace behind them was the cue. The two Weasleys flanked the Malfoy couple like bodyguards and the whole group began to move across the gigantic hall.

Just as Hermione had coached, Draco and the Weasley men kept their lips tightly sealed and their eyes straight ahead as they pushed their way through the crowd.

He and Hermione turned the corner and finally entered the room they'd been striding toward: the press room on the first floor of the Ministry; the raucous bunch for whom the room was named followed closely behind.

Hermione squeezed Draco's hand a bit tighter to reassure him. He took a deep breath and kept his gaze focused on the safe haven: the space behind the podium where they were now headed.

A press conference had been Hermione's idea:

 _"We want to be one step ahead of the reporters," she had explained. "With a press conference, we can control the story, at least to some degree."_

It made sense, of course, and Hermione could easily handle a press conference. Hell, she handled press conferences almost weekly for work.

Draco knew this one would be different though; this one was about her personal life. And so he squeezed back, to reassure her in turn. They were in this together.

The incessant shouting of questions that had followed them all the way across the lobby and into the room ceased as soon as he and Hermione stepped up behind the podium. The cameras flashed rapidly, and he could definitely see a few reporters pull out Quick Quills for their notes.

"Good morning, and thank you for attending," Hermione said, her voice the epitome of a professional politician and Draco's pulse slowed even more, and he was able to take a satisfying breath for the first time since waking up that morning.

 _Those reporters won't know what hit them_ , he thought, grinning widely—or more accurately, smirking.

Hermione continued: "Before we officially begin, my husband and I feel it is crucial that we set boundaries. Both Draco and I will happily answer questions we deem suitable at today's press conference, however, we ask - nay demand - that you afford our children privacy. Specifically, no member of the press will take pictures of us in public without our express permission; you will not attempt to interview or otherwise question our children at any point while they remain underage, and you will not under any circumstances find yourself on the private property belonging to either us or those we are visiting. Anyone who does not agree to these terms can see themselves out."

Draco felt his stomach flutter in an entirely different way from what it had been doing all morning. Hermione had paused dramatically for effect, and he took that opportunity to appreciate the scene. The Weasleys, standing off to the side, were clearly impressed despite having seen her in planning mode. The reporters were frightened. The handful of Ministry workers who had filed up the back of the room were whispering amongst themselves.

Oh yes, Draco had been on the receiving end of Hermione Malfoy's glare, but never that tone of voice. That was the voice Hermione reserved for work and it was _fierce_.

As Hermione continued, Draco felt a familiar sensation stir in the pit of his stomach and let his eyes roam over Hermione's form. Her blouse and pencil skirt were very sexy, he realized. Oh yes, he was definitely excited. A bit more than excited, perhaps.

"All right then," Hermione began, reciting the speech she'd written and memorized the other day.

"As some know, my parents were living in Australia during the war in an effort to keep safe from Voldemort's reach. After the war, I visited them and we decided together to move to the United States. Both the war itself and its after-effects had quite a traumatic effect on me, and we determined that it would be healthiest for me to take a break from the stress of post-war England.

Once in the United States, I enrolled in a muggle university, where Draco Malfoy was already in attendance. Despite the rivalry in our past, we'd both found solace in the muggle world and came to find it in as well in one another.

We married shortly after our graduation, and currently have four children: Miranda Vega, who is five, Carina Arya and Caelum Atticus, who just turned four a few months ago, and Oliver Thuban, 10 months old. Again I reiterate our demand that are children be given your utmost respect and privacy. As minors, they cannot consent to an interview nor to pictures of any kind and as their parents, we do not consent on their behalf.

Shortly after graduation from university, I began working in the United States Muggle Government's Department of Intergovernmental Communication. I am currently serving as Deputy Secretary to Security Branford. Together with various other departments in our Ministry and with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement here, we have spearheaded the implementation of a new Auror training program in the United States, much like the one Mr. Potter founded here which is similarly reliant on international cooperation. My husband Draco Malfoy began working in a potions lab shortly after graduation and has since started his own company.

We will now take questions for approximately five minutes."

The reporters' hands shot up as if shot from a cannon and Draco's stomach tied itself up again. Behind the podium, Hermione squeezed his hand.

She called on a young woman toward the front of the room, who stood and asked "Miss Granger, is it true you've been offered a position to start up a new department, similar to the one you working in the United States here in our ministry?"

Beside him, Hermione's body had tensed as well, but he was the only one who could have noticed. On the surface, his amazing wife was pure Malfoy: her expression betrayed nothing, her body language revealed only pure confidence.

She apparently had the same idea, responding first with, "Please note that I legally changed my name to Malfoy at the time of my marriage, and ask to be addressed as such."

Had they switched roles? Draco was fairly certain he was grinning like a madman, while his Gryffindor of a wife was acting like the true Slytherin Malfoy.

"Yes," Hermione followed, "I have been _offered_ the position."

"Do you intend to take it?" The reporter practically interjected, but Hermione had already called on the next reporter. Draco mostly tuned out the next few questions, thinking instead about their plans for later that day.

 _"Mrs. Malfoy, how did your parents feel about you marrying Draco Malfoy?"_

 _"My parents are incredibly supportive, and visit us whenever they can."_

 _"Mrs. Malfoy, how do Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley feel about your marriage?"_

 _"To my knowledge, they are completely supportive. For more information, you'd have to ask them."_

When he heard his own name, though, Draco was pulled out of his own mind and back to the situation at hand.

"Mr. Malfoy, how do your parents feel about Miss Granger?"

Hermione sidestepped slightly to allow him more direct access to the sonorous-spell broadcasting their voices.

His Malfoy demeanor instantly falling back into place, he replied coldly, "I have not spoken with Lucius Malfoy since the war, and have no intention of doing so. If he knows about my marriage to Hermione it is through my mother. That said, my mother is quite supportive and is in fact one of the reasons we are here on holiday. As I'm sure your gossip columnists know, my mother is not in the best health, and long-distance travel is not as easy as it once was."

Answering one question seemed to open the floodgates, and the next reporter directed his question to Draco as well.

"Mr. Malfoy, why did you opt to go to a Muggle University?"

"Like Hermione, I felt that I needed a break from the world that caused so much pain and had put children and adolescents in such difficult positions,"he answered and then, anticipating their next question added, "I was stripped of my wand for two years as punishment for my role in the war; however, I had already decided to go to muggle university, and had in fact already enrolled at the time of my trial."

There was an odd lull after that as Hermione called on one last reporter.

"Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, what do you intend to do while you are here in London?"

Thankfully, Hermione took back the podium for that one and Draco took a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"There are many people we'd like to see and spend time with, people we haven't seen in quite a long while. However the rest of our trip, I believe, is our business." Hermione paused. "That is all the time we have. Thank you."

As soon as they began walking off the podium, the reporters once again went wild. Ron and George flanked them once more and the Aurors fell in behind them. Together, they walked out, taking care to exude confidence and an unfazed attitude. At least, Draco was taking care to do so. For Hermione, it seemed, this came entirely naturally.

Draco thought about the woman who had still been a bit shy when posing for their wedding pictures, about the woman who had successfully tackled administrative tasks without a moment's hesitation but, when confronted with the press, often struggled to suppress her annoyance. As they walked out, Draco watched her with a mixture of pride and concern. Beside him, her curls where bouncing lightly, her posture standing strong but thoroughly at peace.

 _This is her element_ , he thought, wondering how long it had been since he'd seen her at it. Surely he'd stood in the audience for a press junket or two since . . . well, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been there in person.

"You are amazing, witch," he whispered in her ear as they neared the elevators that would take them up to the Minister's office. "I don't know how you do this all day."

She chuckled as they climbed in.

"At least I don't have to do it on live television," she joked. The Weasley twins' eyes flashed to Draco when she mentioned the muggle device, but he only smiled.

When the elevator stopped and the voice announced their destination, he gave his wife a quick peck on the lips and squeezed her hand once more, saving what he actually wanted to do for later, when they were in private (and perhaps after he'd taken a nap).

Hermione returned the pulse as they strode into Kingsley Shacklebolt's office and let go. She turned to enter the conference room where the Minister and Potter were waiting, among others; he turned toward the private fireplace. Draco's stomach clenched painfully as the conference room's door shut behind his wife and he sent up a last prayer to Merlin that their plan work.

Ron nodded curtly and then sat on the couch across from the Minister's personal secretary. He'd wait to escort Hermione out.

"Ready?" George asked Draco, gesturing to the fireplace. Draco nodded to both Weasley brothers and stepped in.

"The Burrow!"

* * *

Hermione sat primly in the seat directly across from Minister Shacklebolt. Harry was to her left, but she didn't spare him a glance. His presence was comforting enough, and neither of them could afford to look as though she sought his help.

"I thank you all for coming to discuss the offer," she began, pointedly referring to it as simply that - an offer. "I'm well versed in both magical and muggle government, and I know what it takes to run a department such as the one you'd like to start here."

She took a breath, knowing the next words would change the atmosphere of the room dramatically.

"Your government is in no way shape or form prepared for such an undertaking."

As those around the table — high ranking members of the Wizengamot, mostly — shifted anxiously in their seats, Hermione pulled two copies of the charter out of her bag and placed them on the table before her.

"I have no desire to spearhead the necessary preparation, nor will I head up a department that is not capable of functioning," she continued. "More importantly, I have no obligation to, as I am not Hermione Granger."

Hermione passed one copy to Harry and another to the man on her right.

"I am Hermione Malfoy. Legally, your charter is invalid."

She watched, face purposefully impassive, as the group sputtered and stammered. Harry, who had already seen the charter, passed it to his neighbor without a glance; each successive witch or wizard took it only to glare at the surname Granger.

One witch a few seats down glared daggers at Hermione and then turned to Kingsley.

"A clerical error, Minister, I assure you. We can have this fixed."

"Perhaps you could quickly change the name to Hermione Malfoy," Hermione interrupted before the Minister could respond. "But that would be highly unwise. In fact, your clerical error is perhaps your saving grace. Without it, your entire endeavor would have failed."

The buzz increased and Hermione felt a slight smirk escape her impassive facade. Wondering if anyone would come to the same conclusions she had, Hermione waited and watched. Of the ten Wizengamot members gathered, only two were rereading their charter's wording with intent. The other eight were squabbling with one another about Hermione's meaning, her character, her abilities, or even, in the case of the witch in blue robes who had spoken earlier, her husband. Harry was watching Kingsley, so Hermione eventually turned her eyes on the dark-skinned Order member.

His curious eyes met hers. There was no malice in them. Confusion, perhaps, or intrigue, but no malice. She smiled softly.

After a beat, Kingsley called for silence and gestured for Hermione to explain herself.

"Leaving aside the multiple ways in which this government is designed to keep such a department from functioning, the wording implies that the department could only exist under my supervision. Say you changed the charter to reflect my correct name and I accepted, what happens should I wish to retire or — Merlin forbid — I have an accident and can no longer fulfill my duties?"

A wizard in bright magenta scoffed, "Obviously we'd find a replacement."

"And was this charter unanimously approved?" Hermione asked, nodding to herself when those gathered looked around nervously. A few of them were catching on. "Legally you would have no grounds to appoint a successor, and the entire department — or whatever existed of it at that point — could be challenged and shut down."

Kingsley's eyes widened as the room descended into chaotic chatter once more. When the Minister's eyes angrily turned on Harry, Hermione stood. The scraping of her chair against the floor drew attention and the room quieted.

Hermione pulled another document out of her bag and placed it on the table. Time for the pièce de résistance.

"I am not the same Hermione Granger you once knew. I will not be manipulated into taking a job this country is neither prepared for me to have nor capable of appreciating. That said, I have no intention of leaving Wizarding Britain high and dry.

I've drafted a bill, one which, if approved, could properly pave the way for a successful Department of Intergovernmental Communication to be established in the foreseeable future. This new law would not establish the department but would allow you to begin work on the laws and structural changes required for such a department to eventually form and function. The US magical government is quite pleased that you've been inspired by our system and would like to offer you assistance in your endeavors. That assistance would be me, in my capacity as Deputy Secretary for the USDIC. I have spoken with Secretary Branford, who has approval from Magical President Adams, for me to serve as a consultant while you restructure the British Magical Government and move to bring it into the 21st Century.

I'm aware that this was not what you had in mind, but I do hope you'll see the merit in our offer. I'll give you time to discuss; Mr. Potter can contact me when you've made your decision. Thank you."

* * *

A/N - Well? Did any of you see this coming? I think I've only got one chapter left, so leave me reviews in the meantime!


	13. Chapter 12: Epilogue

**December, 2018**

 **10 years later**

"Hello again from the flight deck. We're going to have you on the ground in London in about 30 minutes, so please fasten those seat belts, raise those tray-tables and put your seats back in their upright positions. If London isn't your final destination, you can use our in-flight app to find your connecting flight information. To all of you, thank you for choosing to fly with us today and Happy Holidays! Flight attendants, please prepare for landing."

Harry looked up the announcement and glanced over to check on the rest of the group. Thirteen-year-old Caelum Malfoy was nose-deep in a book, looking more and more like his mother every day. Across the aisle, his twin sister Carina was telling their father about . . . well, Harry wasn't sure anymore but she'd been at it for the past two hours. Draco looked up and caught Harry's eye over her head, tilting his head in a knowing half-smile. He was obviously relieved to be landing.

At the sound of passengers shifting all around them, Harry turned his attention back to his own section and poked Caelum's shoulder gently. The boy looked up, surprised to have been interrupted.

"Tray-table up, Cam," he said gently. "We're landing soon."

The boy nodded, absently re-latching the plastic table as he returned to his book. If Harry hadn't been such good friends with Hermione, he might have been hurt by the lack of attention afforded him by the thirteen-year-old wizard. Luckily he knew better.

Sighing happily, Harry reached down to put his own reading material away and decided to close his eyes for the remainder of the journey.

* * *

As soon as she spotted three blonde heads and one black approaching the baggage claim carousel, Hermione rushed forward. She engulfed the twins in a hug together first.

"Oh I've missed you so much," she sighed, pulling away before pulling them each into another hug individually, and then pushing them lightly toward the now-moving carousel. "Go grab your luggage. Then come back for another hug."

The twins shuffled off happily and she pulled her husband in for a chaste kiss.

"Was the flight okay?" She asked, taking in her husband's mussed hair and heavy eyes.

Draco nodded. "Carina talked _the whole time_. Cam read."

Hermione's eyes puckered in consideration, "And you were the one sitting next to her, huh?"

He nodded again; Hermione laughed. Someone who didn't know Carina might have thought Draco was exaggerating, but there was no doubt in Hermione's mind: if anyone could find a way to talk for eight hours straight, it was Carina. Hermione kissed her husband again for good measure before releasing him and turning to Harry.

She wrapped her friend in a hug, pecked his cheek, and said "Thank you for flying back with them. I really appreciate it."

Harry waved her off, "It was nothing. Had to come back anyways, right? Might as well do it on the same flight."

"Still," she insisted. Then, "You'll have to let me know how the meetings went later."

He assented before hurrying off to help the twins with their luggage. Hermione turned back to Draco, who smiled lazily at her.

"Need a nap?" She asked, already knowing the answer.

"Desperately," he chuckled, leaning in to her side and resting his head on her shoulder. She wrapped her arm around his waist; together they watched as Harry helped the twins settle their luggage onto a cart.

"Remind me why letting them go to school in the states was a good idea," Draco mumbled, already practically asleep on her shoulder. Hermione squeezed his waist tightly.

"Because they love it there," she whispered into his ear. He groaned. "And because the term dates were different their first year," she added, chuckling.

"We should have seen this coming," Draco moaned, nuzzling his face into her neck. Hermione laughed and shoved lightly to keep him standing.

"Probably," she admitted, "But we promised when we moved that the kids they could choose where to go to school."

Draco muttered something about foolish promises just as the twins and Harry returned. Hermione scooped her children into another hug and then steered them all toward Wizarding customs. They breezed through (being Hermione Malfoy and Harry Potter had benefits, after all), and then hopped immediately onto the train.

"Next stop, Kings Cross!" Hermione announced cheerily. Technically, they'd have to change at Paddington Station, but everyone knew what she meant: next stop, Miranda.

For the next half hour, most of the group spoke lightly. Cam had finally closed his book and started to fill Hermione in on anything he hadn't already said in emails or during phone calls home. Carina struck up a conversation with Harry, likely repeating whatever it was she'd said to Draco in the last few hours of the plane ride. Draco slept, having slumped onto Hermione's shoulder as soon as the train began moving, only waking for the few minutes it took to transfer trains.

At some point, Harry looked up and motioned to Draco's exhausted form.

"I could have flown them back without him," he said, reminding her of the offer he'd made months prior. "He didn't have to fly over just to turn right back around."

"I know," she said, her heart swelling as she glanced down and tussled Draco's hair. Harry smiled. It was a useless offer, and they both knew it.

Nearly ten years had gone by since the Wizengamot had accepted Hermione's counter-offer, and she had served as consultant, as promised, for the first five of those years. Before leaving London after that first trip, Hermione and Draco had purchased a small home on the outskirts of the city. For five years, it served as a base camp for Hermione whenever she flew in for in-person meetings, and as a vacation home for the whole family at Christmas and during summer breaks.

But year six marked two significant changes in the lives of the Malfoy family. First, Hermione finally accepted the position as Head of the Department she'd, indirectly, helped create. She and Draco had sat the children down to explain their choice and offer some compensation to sweeten the blow, namely that the family would maintain a home in the states for summer visits and that their children could decide for themselves where to attend school. Miranda, who had spent so much of her childhood protesting a move to London, shocked them all by announcing she wanted to go to Hogwarts. And so the second significant change came with the first: a Malfoy was sorted into Hufflepuff.

"Let's just hope Ollie doesn't throw us all for a loop and pick some third school, yeah?" Harry teased, jolting Hermione out of her reverie.

"Bite your tongue, Harry James Potter," Hermione mock-scolded, keeping her voice low so as to not wake Draco. "It's bad enough trying to coordinate holiday schedules with two different schools."

"Hey a deal's a deal," Harry laughed, "You told them they could pick whichever school they wanted, and Ollie seemed pretty impressed when we visited France last year."

Hermione glared at the man who had been her best friend for so long and put on her best don't-mess-with-me face. "If you so much as suggest Beauxbatons to my son, I'll take Lily with us to Brazil over Easter. She loves beaches, and I happen to know the Transfiguration professor at Castleobruxo."

"Okay, I give!" Harry announced, throwing his hands up in innocence just as the train pulled into Kings Cross Station.

Once they crossed through the barrier to Platform 9 3/4, Hermione made short work of shrinking the twin's luggage and storing it in her bag. They all then scanned the crowd for the familiar sight of red hair. Harry was the first to spot his wife and wave, but Carina and Cam got to the Weasley pack first.

"Hey guys!" Ginny greeted the adults when they got close enough, hugging Harry fiercely before turning to Hermione. "I thought you were going to apparate?"

Hermione shook her head and nodded in Draco's direction, "We decided to take the train. He needed a nap." Ginny rolled her eyes at Draco who, despite sleeping for the entire train ride, was still yawning and bleary-eyed as he greeted the other Weasleys.

"We told him he was insane to fly out just to fly back again," Ginny protested, "If he wasn't going to let Harry pick them up he could have at least given himself more than four hours between flights."

"And miss Oliver's junior Quidditch league final?" Hermione snorted. "Unlikely."

Ginny laughed, but Hermione knew she fully understood. The Potter parents went to Hogwarts for almost every Quidditch game, and Ginny herself had helped organize their area's junior league years ago.

As they waited for the Hogwarts Express to arrive, Hermione stood back and observed the family she'd reconnected with after her ten year absence.

The children weren't much of a surprise. Her own children had been endlessly fascinated by Teddy's metamorphamagus abilities and had taken it upon themselves to call all the Potter children cousins by the end of year one. Even the Weasley grandchildren — Bill's, Percy's, George's, even Ron's children — had become fast friends with the Malfoy brood.

It was the adults who surprised Hermione or, more specifically, Ron.

 **********FLASHBACK**********

 **June 2009**

"Hey Hermione, can we talk for a moment?"

The Malfoys had been spending a last morning at the Burrow on their last day in London, celebrating Hermione's manipulation of the Ministry, when Ron had pulled her aside.

"What's going on?" She asked, her nerves flaring up as she followed Ron out back into the garden.

"I need some advice," Ron confessed, running his hands up and down his arms, his eyes darting around at the foliage that surrounded them. Still on edge, Hermione tried to exude something comforting, but only felt her own skin prickle. When Ron didn't offer anything more, Hermione looked around for a solution and found a bench. They sat. And sat. Until finally, Ron garbled out something that sounded a lot like "I'm dating Pansy Parkinson."

Hermione's jaw fell open.

"You're what?"

Ron sighed. "I'm dating Pansy Parkinson," he repeated, more clearly this time, "We haven't told anyone yet."

For a long time, the words hung in the air. Hermione shook her head, pushing away the clouds that seemed to have slunk into her mind, and sat up straighter.

"I'm not sure how I could help you, Ron," she admitted, hoping he understood her confusion to be just that and not an affront to his romantic choices. "By the time Draco and I started dating, our friends at school all knew and liked each other, and my parents liked him too. And by the time you all found out, we were married with kids," she added, trying — and failing — to lighten the mood.

But Ron was shaking his head. "It's not that. Well, it is but . . . for a long time she was to scared to tell my family. You know, because of everything that happened at Hogwarts."

Hermione nodded, remembering all too clearly what Pansy Parkinson had been like at Hogwarts. Rita Skeeter as a beetle came to mind, as did a shouted "someone grab him" in the Great Hall.

"But now, with you and Draco all lovey-dovey in public and no one seeming to care, she thinks she's ready."

"So what's the problem?"

"I don't know if I'm ready," Ron muttered, his shoulders slumped.

Hermione puffed air out in a quick sigh, turning to watch a butterfly dance over the flowers in Mrs Weasley's garden. After a few moments, a gnome popped out of the ground and began chasing the butterfly. When both gnome and butterfly had disappeared around the corner of the house, Hermione turned back to Ron.

"Why aren't you ready?"

More silence. Ron stood, moving away from the bench toward the tree beside it and spoke without looking at Hermione.

"Remember that really dark place I mentioned?"

"Of course," she replied immediately. Everyone had been vague about Ron during that time, but Hermione didn't dare push for details.

"I—well, there was a lot going on. Drinking, some other stuff. Bad stuff. I tried — well, about a year after the Death Eater attack in Australia, I made a really stupid, would-have-been-fatal decision," Ron turned briefly to her and their eyes met. Hermione sucked in a harsh breath as she felt her eyes begin to prickle. Ron turned back to face the tree, and Hermione pressed her hands into her eyes, trying to stave off the tears.

"Like I said, Ginny forced me to get some help and I was good for a while. A few years ago, though, I got hurt on a mission and, well it all kind of came back. Not as bad as before but, well, not good. That's when I met Pansy. Or re-met her, I guess. She sort of . . . saved me? She helped, anyways. Still does."

Ron was quiet for a long time, staring at the tree, before he turned back and joined Hermione on the bench again.

"So I guess that's why I'm scared to tell the family," he finished, looking to Hermione as if for answers. "Family is family but Pansy . . ."

"You love her?"

"Yeah, I do. But I love my family, too. I don't want to have to choose, you know?"

A warm breeze ripped through the yard, whipping softly through the hair atop Hermione's head. Flashes from the disastrous but successful dinner at the Potters came to mind: Ron being the first to shake Draco's hand, his immediate acceptance of Draco as family, and everyone's intense reluctance to mention anything about Ron's experience after she disappeared. Had he accepted Draco because of Pansy? Or because . . .

"Family is family, and I choose Draco?"

Ron nodded. Hermione sighed. Without thinking, her right-hand fingers began to play with the wedding band on her left hand.

"I never thought of it like that, Ron," she tried to explain. "I thought of it as, well, choosing family over family. My muggle family, instead of my magic one."

"It was still a choice, though," he nudged. They sat in silence for a long time. Ron stared straight ahead. Hermione watched the horizon. When the sun had risen a few extra inches in the sky, she had finally come up with something to say.

"For what it's worth, I don't think your family would make you choose. And if Pansy would, then she's not the right person for you."

 **********END FLASHBACK**********

Hermione watched Ron with a small smile. He'd faced some bumps along the way — everyone did, as part of life — but he had found a way to navigate the obstacles with a grace she never would have seen coming back at Hogwarts.

As they waited for the red steam engine to pull into the station, Hermione watched Ron wrap his arm possessively around Pansy and kiss her forehead. Their son, Hugo, was chatting with Oliver and Lily; it didn't take much imagination to guess that Hugo and Lily were trying to talk Oliver into joining them at Hogwarts next year.

"Hoping they're swaying him toward Hogwarts, Mrs. Malfoy?" Bill teased, sidling up beside Hermione and jutting his chin toward the three ten-year-olds. Hermione tried to look unimpressed.

"Oliver can choose wherever he wants. Draco and I have no opinion."

Bill laughed. "You can try that with the others. I know what it's like to have kids at two different schools."

"And if Louis wants to go to Hogwarts?" She taunted, much as Harry had taunted her earlier.

"Nope. He's joining Dominique at Beauxbatons. As soon as Vic graduates, we're saying goodbye to Hogwarts."

"Who's saying goodbye to Hogwarts?" another voice asked. Hermione turned and smiled at George.

"We are," Bill confirmed.

"Oh really? And what if the next Minister for Magic takes issue with British students enrolling in foreign schools?" George questioned Bill before turning to Hermione. "What do you think Hermione? How will the next Minister for Magic feel about that important issue?"

Hermione huffed. "Stop it, George."

"It's a very important issue, Hermione. The next Minister for Magic ought to comment on it."

Hermione turned to glare at the earless twin, but was interrupted, again, this time by Percy.

"What's the next Minister commenting on?"

Hermione tried really hard not to grind her teeth. "Stop it. All of you. It's not funny."

"What did we do?" Percy asked, pretending to be innocent and annoyed that he was being blamed for mischief. Hermione glared. Sure, she was glad that Percy had embraced his inner jokester, but would rather his new joking side not get involved in involved teasing her.

The train had finally pulled up; she let that be her excuse to move away from the Weasley men and walked toward her husband instead.

"You okay?" Draco asked, looking at her slightly flushed face. Hermione shook her head, suddenly very aware of how many people were on the platform and how many of them were watching her family.

"They were doing it again."

"The Minister thing?"

She nodded. Draco pulled her close and kissed her cheek as Miranda hopped off the train.

"Does it bug you because you're not sure you want it? Or because you're scared they'll jinx it?"

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. "Does it matter?"

Hermione waved to her daughter, catching her eye and nodding when Miranda indicated that she was waiting on the others to disembark.

"You really ought to call Matt," Draco suggested for the third time that month. "He's more than a friend - he was your mentor. And now that he's succeeded Adams, I'm sure he'd have advice for you."

"I know," Hermione sighed, distractedly keeping her eyes on Miranda and the others getting off the train. "I will. I should owl Kingsley as well."

"You should," he replied. Hermione was grateful he didn't say more than that, but could tell he was waiting for her to say more.

"I don't want to talk about it here," she whispered, before stepping forward to pull Miranda into a hug. Draco hugged their eldest next; Miranda steered him away for a whispered conversation. Hermione turned away to give them space and say hello to the other kids, but when she turned back, Draco had stiffened and Miranda had pulled her three siblings off to the side.

"Mya?" Draco practically whispered, pulling her to face him.

"I'm here," she reassured him. He looked slightly green. She waited, not needing to ask, gently rubbing Draco's arm until he was ready.

"They're covering the war in History of Magic next term."

Hermione's breath hitched briefly, and then she recovered.

"Harry, Ron and I were talking about sitting the older kids down and talking about it over break." Draco's face contorted, a familiar expression of grief and shame flickering in the shadows of his eyes. "We were hoping you and Pansy would join us for that but if it's too painful you don't have to."

Hermione knew she had phrased it correctly when his eyes lit up and he asked, "And the younger kids?"

"We're thinking Ginny could take the younger kids flying."

Draco pulled her closer and nuzzled his face into her neck, his deep breathing and frantic heartbeat the only signs of his distress.

"Mom? Dad? Everything ok?"

Suddenly their children had joined them, worry evident in their furrowed brows.

Draco stood, his Malfoy mask back in place, and smirked. "Can't a bloke appreciate his wife once in a while?"

Oliver groaned; Cam smiled; Carina giggled; Miranda rolled her eyes.

"So are we waiting until it's official, or can we just call you Minister Mom from now on?" Miranda teased, an identical smirk on her slightly more feminine face. Hermione stiffened and looked accusingly at Draco, who merely shrugged. If his daughter chose to pay him back by teasing his wife, who was he to complain?

"Let's go home," Hermione announced, shrinking Miranda's trunk and putting it into her bag with the others' luggage instead of answering.

They said goodbye to the various Weasleys and Potters, making plans to meet up the next day for a late lunch before heading toward the platform barrier and crossing through.

"Hey Minister Mom, can I get another owl? I think Verona is getting lonely in her old age," Miranda joked.

"Funny, Miranda Vega," Hermione chastised lightheartedly, her heart thumping angrily beneath her ribs.

"Hey Minister mom, is it weird that two of your kids go to school in the states?" Carina asked as the family walked out to the car they used for occasions like these.

"Oh hush," she hissed, looking straight ahead and willing herself not to play with her wedding band like she often did for comfort when stressed.

"Mom, if you become Minister, you'd be the first female Minister for Magic ever, right?" Cam asked as he opened the backseat door. Hermione smiled, air filling her lungs like an overinflated balloon that might pop.

"Go put your things in the car," she said, still avoiding their questions, and getting into the driver's seat. She hadn't shut the door yet when she overheard Draco talking to the kids.

"Just hold off on the Minister jokes, ok? Mum's a bit overwhelmed right now, and the jokes don't help."

"We didn't mean to upset her," Miranda confided, immediately sounding upset at the thought of actually hurting her mother.

"Is she worried she wouldn't get it?" Cam asked, clearly confused. "Because she'd be running basically unopposed. Everyone knows Cartwright doesn't have a chance and Minister Shacklebolt specifically asked —"

"And Monica Daniels said—" Miranda began.

"Look, we all hear the rumors. But she hasn't decided what she wants yet," Draco interrupted. "and she doesn't need any added pressure to do so from you lot." They were quiet for a moment and Hermione heard the boot of the car slam shut.

"We're really proud of her. No matter what she decides to do. She knows that, right?" Carina asked softly.

"She knows, and she's really proud of you, too."

"We should do something special for her tonight," Oliver suggested. "So that she's not so stressed."

"How about we order some take away and watch a movie?" Draco suggested through a yawn, getting in the car. Everyone agreed, and agreed again when they told Hermione the plan.

And as she drove to their home on the outskirts of London — an upgraded version of their vacation home from years ago — Hermione couldn't help but be thankful for everything she had and the journey she'd taken to get here.

 **The end.**

* * *

A/N - Well that's that. I can't believe it's been two years since I first published this story. Of all the ideas I'd saved little snippets of, I never would have guessed that this one would have stuck, but I'm really glad it did. It definitely didn't go in the direction I initially thought of years and years ago (think more traditional, sex-filled M-rated romance); it morphed into something a lot more ... emotionally intense at times ... but I'm really happy with how this turned out and I hope you are, too. As always, please let me know your thoughts by leaving a review.

Some notes about future projects:

\- Maybe I'll write some "extras" to NTSHG at a later date to fill that initial craving for Dramione sexiness.

\- Someone asked for a prequel at some point but unfortunately, that probably won't happen. As a 90s baby, most of my knowledge of what college was like in the 90s is limited to books and movies, and I'm not sure I have the energy to do a full fic of that. But a few early years scenes might show up in the extras :)

\- I'm going to miss my little Malfoys (not so little now, in the epilogue) but I've got some other ideas floating around in my brain for future fics.

\- If I get enough reviews, I just might write and post a New Years Eve scene for this fic that almost made it into the epilogue, but didn't.

Anyways, thank you all so much for reading!

~ProfessorMuggle


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